


The Magic Carpet

by halfwayhopeful



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amusement Parks, First Time, M/M, Teen Angst, The Smiths - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-01-20 12:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12432426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfwayhopeful/pseuds/halfwayhopeful
Summary: Severus Snape has been operating 'The Magic Carpet' at Whatnot since before Harry was born. The fact that Harry's parents have warned against him from day one doesn't change the fact that Harry finds him . . . interesting, to say the least. *Revised Ending*





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Non Magic AU. Teen Angst ahead, and RIDES!

…

“Dad, what can you tell me about Snape?”

James Potter stiffened for a moment before lowering his newspaper to raise a brow at his son. “That depends on what you want to know.” He said after a moment.

Harry fidgeted, a nervous habit he’d become renowned for in recent years. “Er . . . how long has Snape worked at ‘Whatnot’? Has he . . . did he ever do anything else?”

James sighed and folded his paper. “Snape’s been at Whatnot since your mother and I were your age. He never left.”

“Oh. Well . . . I’d heard rumors about him, and I finally met him yesterday.”

“Oh, did you?” James smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Did he mention your mother?”

“Not exactly. Albus gave me a tour and introduced me as his assistant, and Snape said, ‘A Potter in maintenance? I thought the day would never come’.”

James laughed at that, pushing his untouched bacon across the table to Harry. “Well, he hated me from the moment we met. I thought it was because he fancied your mother, but he never mentioned it to her . . . Is he still on the Magic Carpet?”

“Yeah.” Harry laughed, biting into the crisp bacon. “Albus told me he’s the only one who never rotates off. And that he can be temperamental.”

James smiled. “That’s a bit of an understatement. Snape’s a bastard. Stay away from him, Harry. There’s a reason he still works at ‘Whatnot’ after all this time.”

Harry studied his father with a frown. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Honestly, it’s something you’ll have to sort out on your own.”

…

Albus Dumbledore had been the owner and maintenance man of ‘Whatnot’ since the park opened, and he told Harry that he’d only ever had two assistants.

“Why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, it’s a long story . . . generally there aren’t many people suited to park maintenance. Especially out of the kids that usually apply.”

Harry grinned despite himself. “So I’m a special snowflake, is what you’re telling me?”

“Is that what the kids are saying nowadays?” Albus said with a chuckle. “Yes, Harry. A special snowflake suited for maintenance.”

The first day saw Harry carrying Albus’ tool-bag as the suspiciously limber older man skittered and climbed and tightened things all over the place. Harry winced a few hours into his shift as Albus jumped from one side of the coaster to the other.

“It’s nerve wracking, isn’t it?” a deep voice mused from beside him, causing Harry to jump and the tool bag to slip from his shoulder onto the ground with a loud *clank*.

Albus looked across the bay and smiled. “Hello, Severus. A tad early, are we?”

Harry stooped to grab the (very, very heavy) tool bag and rose to see Severus Snape in all his tall, scowling glory. Dark hair and thin wrists were Harry’s first impressions, and he noticed Snape held a thick novel and a cd case under his arm, though his hands were in his pockets.

“Do you always sneak up on people?” Harry blurted, hitching the tool bag into its’ proper position. He watched Snape closely.

“I only sneak up on dunderheads who aren’t paying attention to their surroundings. And a quiet approach isn’t an attempt at sneaking, although I’m quite good at that, too.” And with that, Snape stalked off toward the Magic Carpet.

Albus jumped down from an emergency platform, causing Harry to jump and drop the tool bag yet again. “I think Severus likes you. That was ‘chatty’, for him.”

Harry stared, dumbfounded. “He may have insulted me. I’m not completely sure.”

Albus smiled at that and patted Harry’s arm gently. “That’s quite common with Severus. Half the time I wonder if he enjoys my company at all, or is plotting my demise.”

“Did he enjoy my mother’s company?” Harry realized too late what he’d asked and began to fidget. “I mean . . . that was rude. Sorry, Mr. Dumbledore.”

“Please, Harry, call me Albus. And I believe he was fond of her, yes. Now-” Dumbledore clapped his hands, sharply. “Have you ever tinkered with a gasoline engine? No? On to the bumper boats.”

…

As part of maintenance, Harry mostly worked mornings before the park opened, taking his lunch just as the operator crew filtered in, including his friends from school, Ron and Hermione. After telling them about his morning encounter over a sandwich, Harry was informed that Ron and Hermione had both heard about Snape, though their gossip and sources differed greatly. Ron figured Snape stayed because he was an ex-con. Hermione had just laughed and mentioned perhaps he genuinely liked it here, and never bothered to leave.

Harry shook his head. “My dad said something along the lines of Snape not being able to leave. Maybe he tried, but no one would hire him?”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t see why he couldn’t do something that doesn’t concern the general public. With all those books he reads, he’s probably intelligent. But, either way, Ron and I have to report to the office about paychecks before our shift. Shouldn’t you find Dumbledore?”

Harry nodded and wished them luck before wandering off. For a white-haired wizard-looking man, Dumbledore was surprisingly hard to find. Harry heard a burst of noise to his right and turned to see Dumbledore crouched on a seat of the Magic Carpet, inspecting the latch of a lap bar. The noise, it seemed, came from the speakers of the ride, which were now leaking odd synth noises.

Snape sat in the glass booth, flipping through his CD book. Harry wondered idly if Severus had anything interesting beneath the prickly surface. He must have been nearly 37 now, but he still worked at the same amusement park as when he was a teenager. Harry cocked his head to the side, wondering.

“Harry, my boy! Over here!”

Harry snapped out of his distracted haze and jogged over to Dumbledore, who had tucked his lengthy beard into his shirt and was now pointing to the lap bar.

“What do you think the problem is and how can we fix it?”

Harry took a closer look, reached out and attempted to shimmy it into position. He shrugged. “It’s stuck in its’ base. If I were at home, I’d spray it with lubricant and see if it has marks from being stripped or jammed incorrectly.”

Dumbledore beamed. “Well done Harry. Grab the silicone spray from my bag, will you?”

Harry dug in the bag and sprayed where Dumbledore suggested. Dumbledore found no scratches and slid the bolt several times into place, locking it and pulling on the lap bar. After a few tugs, he declared it ‘Safe’, just jammed initially. He instructed Harry to check the other lap bars and alert him if any seemed unsafe. As Harry fiddled with another latch, music began to blare, and the flashing lights buzzed to life overhead.

“I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I’m miserable now. I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and heaven knows I’m miserable now.”

Harry grinned at the lyrics and glanced up at the booth. Snape looked as disinterested as before, reading his book, raising a thin hand to tuck his hair behind his ear. Harry snorted and got back to work.

. . .

The only odd thing about Hermione and Ron being operators was that they worked a different shift than Harry, and they didn’t spend as much time all together as Harry thought they would. It wasn’t all bad, though. Being maintenance meant Harry got to toy with metal and electricity, something his robot kits at home could only supply in miniature. And better yet, he got paid to do it. He also got to spend loads of time with the mysterious enigma that was Albus Dumbledore. 

Having lived in a small town most of his life, Albus had travelled for a few years and, upon returning a wealthy man, had opened an amusement park, of all things, and called it “Whatnot”. The park quickly became a local hot-spot and a common first job for the local kids. Harry’s parents and their friends were a part of that tradition, and now Harry was, too. 

Despite gentle nudging from his wife Minerva, Dumbledore refused to step down as the head of maintenance, jumping and tugging and soldering things most of the day, though he must have been pushing sixty.

…

Harry sat on a stool in the “maintenance tower” toward the end of his first week, pulling together items he wanted for his tool bag. He’d felt honored that Albus had deemed him worthy of his own bag (something Snape had openly scoffed at when Harry had mentioned it). 

He spotted a small operation system with loose wires dangling from the bottom, eyed the buttons: ‘Start’, ‘Recording’, ‘Bay’ and ‘Emergency Stop’. He pressed them all one by one, for fun’s sake. 

“Thank you for joining us today on the ‘Magic Carpet’.” Harry chuckled to himself, attempting to impersonate Snape. “Please keep all limbs inside the ride if you don’t wish to lose them. If your partner goes flying, duck for cover until the operator can assist you.”

“That’s not the script at all.” Harry jumped and attempted to whirl around, managing only to slide off the stool onto the floor. Towering above him stood Severus Snape. God, he was tall.

“Have you seen Albus?” Snape said quietly, deep voice cutting through the silence. 

“Last I knew, he was upstairs.” Harry offered, lying sprawled on the floor. Snape surprised him by offering a hand and pulling Harry swiftly to his feet. Snape climbed the ladder to the second floor as Harry gaped, and he heard the muffled conversation as Severus woke Albus from a nap and explained there was a lost child currently crying in his booth. Severus had called over the intercom, but Albus had been dead asleep.

Harry slipped back as Severus descended the ladder, followed quickly by Albus, his beard a feathery mess. Albus glanced as Harry with a small smile. “It’s past your shift now, isn’t it?”

“I was waiting for Ron and Hermione, sir. We have plans after they get off.”

“Ah. Well, duty calls. Thank you for your help this week.” And with that, Snape and Dumbledore left the cluttered room. 

Harry looked around, frowning. He still had a few hours to kill. Curiosity got the best of him, and he climbed the ladder. It was probably older than him and creaky as hell, but Harry was a natural climber and got up without too much trouble. The first thing he saw was a rumpled cot, probably the site of the alleged nap. It sat beneath large map of the United States with pushpins through a few of the major cities. Scanning through the room, Harry froze.

There in the corner sat a woman a little younger than Albus with her dark eyes looking right at him. 

After a moment, her expression softened and she smiled. “It’s alright, Harry. Come here.” Harry unfroze and shook his head, climbing fully onto the landing and stepping closer to the woman, who looked genuinely pleased to see him, though he didn’t believe he’d ever met her before.  
“Hello. I’m Harry Potter.” Harry gave a small wave.  
Minerva’s smile was similar to her husband’s mischievous grin. It was something about the eyes. “I know who you are. You look just like your father, you know. Though you have your mother’s eyes.”

Harry nodded. He’d heard as much, from everyone he’d ever run into in town. His parents had been high-school sweethearts, and popular to boot. Unfortunately, everyone knew them, and Harry was stopped by someone nearly every time he went out with greetings and well-wishes for himself and his parents. 

“Are you Minerva?” Harry asked quietly. 

The woman nodded with a small smile. “Yes, yes I am. Albus told me all about you. It isn’t often he takes on a maintenance assistant.”

“I told him when I applied that I’m good with my hands.” Harry admitted, blushing when Minerva chuckled. “I mean, I like to build things.”

“So does Albus. Always tinkering, always working. I’ve told him to retire, but I don’t believe he ever will. He’s too restless . . .” Minerva trailed off, and stood from her armchair. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Harry politely declined, admitting he had made plans for later that night, and made his leave, descending the ladder and leaving the tower to the park. It was getting dark now, and the ride lights looked festive, making Harry smile. He’d always enjoyed coming here and now he could say he was part of the magic.

Harry spotted Ron at the Pirate Ship and told him excitedly about the storage room with Snape and meeting Minerva. Ron made fun of Harry’s fall from the stool and fear of the Pirate Ship, which swung from side to side and almost all the way over.

“Maybe if you ride it enough times, you won’t be afraid anymore?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

…

Harry ended up sitting next to a quiet nine year old who advised him to focus on seeing the city lights from up high, like flying. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle nervously at the thought of ‘flying’. He and Albus had spent over an hour that morning testing the seat bolts and lap bars on the Pirate Ship. His chances of soaring to a messy end were slim, but he would never stop being paranoid. 

As the ride began to swing higher and higher, he found there was some truth to the boy’s words. Harry could see the town in all its lighted glory. He could also see the light in the top of the maintenance tower, probably Minerva reading or maybe eating dinner with Albus. Harry looked over to the Magic Carpet, spotting Snape as he made his rounds testing the lap bars, giggly teens scrunching back in their seats to avoid him. 

Harry had been here many times before becoming an employee, and swore he would have remembered Snape had he ever seen him. Maybe if he’d always been with his father, they’d simply stayed away. But the Magic Carpet was a great ride. Harry felt a pang for never having ridden it before getting paid to do so. 

The Pirate Ship swung smaller and smaller, finally slowing to a stop. Harry thanked the boy and stumbled off, patting Ron on the back and making his way to the snack bar for a soda. 

He wound up on the stairs leading to the Magic Carpet, listening to the odd techno Snape had decided to play that night. Harry shot a glance at Snape in the operating booth. As usual he was devouring a novel, only glancing up on occasion to make sure the ride was functioning normally. Harry chuckled, but froze as Snape’s laser-like gaze settled on him. Harry raised his soda in a mock salute and grinned. 

At first it seemed like Snape would ignore him completely, but after a moment, he smirked, standing to leave the booth and make his rounds around the ride. Harry finished his soda and tossed it in the nearest garbage can before hoisting himself over a rail and landing neatly in the doorway of Snape’s booth, just as the man turned the corner. 

He thought Snape may have startled minutely, but it was hard to tell.

“Evening, Snape. What are you reading?”

Snape slid by Harry and sat in his chair, ignoring Harry in favor of making his standard boarding announcement. “Something you’ve probably never heard of.” He said after a bit.

“Try me.”

“ ’A Brief History of Time’, Stephen Hawking.”

“It doesn’t look brief to me. Quite a few pages, in fact.”

“Two hundred and fifty six, and no pictures. Not quite your level, I’d reckon.”

Harry had to laugh at that; he couldn’t help it. “Very funny, Snape. Hilarious, really. Umm, how do you choose your music?”

“Do I get a snack after this interrogation?”

“It depends on how co-operative you are.”

Snape closed his book with a sour look as the ride slowed to a stop. “Unfortunately, Potter, not everyone gets paid to scuttle carelessly on amusement rides all day. If you’ll kindly leave me to it . . .”

“Yes. Of course, sorry.” Harry blushed and hopped back over the railing, dodging a few younger kids as he spotter Ron and Hermione near the fountain in the courtyard. Ron spotted him first and nudged Hermione.

“There you are!” Hermione shouted, hugging him hard once he got close enough. “We were starting to worry about you.”

“We thought Snape might have abducted you if you stayed up there much longer.” Ron said with a smirk as they left through the employee exit toward the parking lot. Hermione’s car awaited them, a beat up hand-me-down from a favorite aunt, and Harry crawled into the cramped backseat, pulling his backpack from beneath the seat. 

“What is it with everyone thinking Snape’s a creeper? “ Harry protested weakly, slipping into a worn t-shirt as Hermione and Ron settled into the front. “He’s antisocial, sure, but kidnapping?”

“It’s just . . .” Ron clucked his tongue, thinking. “There have been rumors for years about Snape, you know? He never says a kind word to anyone, not even Dumbledore. He listens to weird music and forces it on everyone else with that friggin’ ride. I don’t think he’s ever tried to leave. Why would he? He’s got everything he wants already . . . What I wanna know is why a thirty something year old man operates the Magic Carpet and cares about nothing else.”

Harry shrugged as Hermione started the car and nudged down the radio volume. “I withhold all judgement until we learn more about him. I will say, he’s warmed up to Harry quite nicely.”

“He insulted me twice within the span of two minutes.” Harry choked out. “How is that ‘warmed up’?”

Ron laughed. “He’s actually talked to you, voluntarily. That makes two people now that we know of, including Dumbledore, who he supposedly likes.” 

Hermione laughed as they pulled onto the highway. “Where to, gentle-boys? Drive in or skating rink?”

“I haven’t been skating in years.” Harry mused, handing Ron the backpack at the sight of his grasping hand. “I’d prefer the rink. Your make-out in the back seat was too obvious last time.”

“Hey! We were discussing major plot points!” Hermione insisted.

“Between make out sessions, sure.” Harry shot back, and Ron made an odd choking noise. “I vote skating rink.”

“I agree.” Ron chimed in after containing himself.

“Alright.” Hermione sighed, taking the exit for the next town over. It was a Thursday midsummer night. Hopefully it wasn’t too crowded.

…

It wasn’t. The trio was alone besides a birthday party of about ten kindergartners. Nearly all of them had safety skates attached to their shoes, and after the initial annoyance, Harry got used to avoiding small children like any other obstacle. 

Hermione and Ron had begun dating before school let out, this Harry knew, but it was a different matter completely to watch them skate hand-in-hand around small children who were doing the same thing for different reasons. This led to a lovely incident where Hermione was abruptly cut off by a thick group of five year olds holding hands and fell hard on her side. Harry raced back and crouched beside her as Ron did the same thing.

“Are you alright?” Ron fretted, poking Hermione in the hip until she slapped his hand away. “I’m just sore. I should be fine.” Hermione struggled to her feet and almost fell again as she tried to push off from her injured leg.

“That’s it, Mione. We’re going to the hospital.” 

“But I’ll be-” 

“We’re not taking any chances. Remember Harry’s arm?”

Harry groaned at that. He’d broken an arm Freshman year and hadn’t known for a week. Harry had ignored the pain until he’d contracted a fever and his mother had a good look at him. He’d winced one too many times, and she’d taken him to the E. R. Harry had hated hospitals for as long as he could remember, having stayed overnight one too many times as a child. 

Hermione complained mightily, but Ron was able to talk her into going, although Harry elected to stay behind and call his parents for a ride. He waved them off and, after sitting on the bench for a bit while debating when to call his parents, re-entered the rink. 

Harry skated, kneeling to help whenever a child happened to fall in front of him. A ballad came on, and the DJ announced that it was ‘couples skate’. The children paired off, and Harry declined several offers and went to the snack bar for a water bottle, shuffling over to a bench for a well-earned rest.

He didn’t notice the new arrival until it was too late.

“A little far from Godric’s Hollow, aren’t we?”

Harry looked up sharply to see none other than Severus Snape, perched on the bench next to him and lacing up a pair of skates that looked older than Harry himself. He frowned. “I’m not sure I want to know how you know where I live. And you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Snape smirked. “I haven’t had the best experience with people from those parts.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Here.” Harry grinned and held out his hand to shake. “I’m Harry Potter. What’s your name?”

Snape raised an eyebrow at the offered hand and stood gracefully, skating away across the neon carpet to the rink. Harry dropped his hand with a grunt, watching Snape push off and skirt around five year olds with ease, turning around to skate backwards for a bit.

“Showoff” Harry grumbled, standing to find a payphone to call for a ride.

…

The party of five year olds were understandably upset about having to leave, but it was getting late and their mothers had already packed up the cake (after saving Harry and Snape pieces for ‘being so helpful’). Snape skated leisurely alone until all the five year olds were gone. After staring longingly at his cake for a moment, Harry joined him.

“There’s cake, Snape. I know you heard me.”

Snape hummed and continued to ignore Harry. They skated together for a few songs, keeping pace but not talking. Snape seemed more at ease out here than in his booth even, which Harry hadn’t known was possible. Harry’s stomach growled and he realized he’d only had a bowl of cereal and soda for most of the day.  
“I’m eating my damn cake. If you’re not there in a minute, I’m eating yours too.” Harry skated to the table and rested for a moment, wondering how long it would take his parents to get here, and decided he had more than enough time to eat his cake and get outside before one of them noticed he was talking to Snape without adult supervision. Not that he was too far from being an adult himself, but . . .

Snape glided up to the other side of the table and sat, pulling a plate to himself. “Marble cake? Passable.”

“Passable? This cake is amazing, Snape. You’re lucky I didn’t eat yours already out of spite.”

Snape shook his head and ate his cake, watching Harry with a smirk. As usual, Harry began to fidget.

“Um, how long have you been coming here?” 

Snape was quiet long enough that Harry began to ask the question again. “Since they opened. It must have been at least ten years ago.”

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I tend to come out when I believe I will be alone.” Snape murmured, reaching up to scratch just above an ear.

“I’ve noticed.” Harry watched Snape’s wrist, losing his train of thought for a moment. He deadpanned after a moment, “If you’re a vampire, now’s the time to say so. I’ll stop hanging around you so much.”

“That’s all it would take?” Snape barked a laugh. “I wish I had known that a few weeks ago, I would have-”

“Harry James Potter.” Harry froze at the sound of his Mother’s voice. Her tone was . . . Questionable. “I’ve been waiting outside for ten minutes, and I finally decided to come looking for you.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Harry sighed, turning to look at his mother, who had her robe tied tightly around her pajamas. “I lost track of time.”

“I can see that.” She said with a frown, turning to Snape. “Hello, Severus. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Lily.” Snape said with a slow nod. “Mrs. Potter, my mistake.”

Lily batted a hand, expression softening a tad. “I’ve been Lily longer than a Potter, anyway. How are you Severus? I see you’ve met my son.”

“I’ve had the misfortune, yes. He seems to have taken a liking to me.”

Harry blushed. “I have not! Mom, he’s-“

“I know. Trust me, I know. Let’s go, son. It’s late.”

Harry removed his skates and returned them to the attendant as Snape and his mother chatted. Harry could see why his father had been jealous of their friendship. His mother was one of the few people Snape was somewhat nice to. He wasn’t exactly nice to Harry. It was more like he was playing with him. Harry put his shoes back on and stood beside his mother as she said her goodbyes and lead him to the car. The silence lasted only until they got onto the highway.

“If your father had been the one coming to get you, there would have been a fight.”

Harry sighed, looking out the window. “I didn’t plan on running into Snape, Mom. And the cake was from a party that left . . . I’m sorry. I know how Dad feels about him.”

Lily pursed her lips. “It’s not only the past, Harry. Your father’s afraid . . .”

Harry lifted a hand to gnaw on his stub nails, and his mother automatically pushed his hand away. It was an old routine. “What is Dad afraid of? Is there something he isn’t telling me about Snape, besides everything?”

“Harry, stop. Your father wants you to be safe, and . . . The only way I convinced him that Snape and I weren’t together in the past was to tell him the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Snape is gay, and has been since we were kids, which is why your father doesn’t want him anywhere near you. He already worries that you are too, and-“

“Maybe I am.” Harry grumbled, angry that his father hadn’t bothered to mention this to him, but insisted he stay away from Snape. “If he hates gay people so much, maybe I’ll just move in with the Weasleys. Molly’s always trying to adopt me, anyway.”

“That’s not the point, Harry James. Your father loves you no matter what. You have to know that.” She sighed and turned down the radio. “But he doesn’t want you to get caught up with a man that never left a high school job and isn’t very nice on top of that.”

“I guess neither of you know me well at all.” Harry bit out. He toyed with his seat belt, feeling trapped, but with nowhere to go. How much worse would this be coming from his father? “You’re both assuming I’m stupid enough to fall for whoever talks to me for long enough. Well, I’m not. Snape is not a nice person, but he’s worth getting to know. We both know that. Just because Dad can’t see things from another angle doesn’t mean he’s always right.”

“Harry . . .”

Harry turned up the radio and crossed his arms.

“You’re acting like a child, Harry James.”

“This conversation makes me feel like one. Please, please just trust me in this. And don’t tell Dad. I don’t want to have to explain something I haven’t even figured out myself. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone . . .”

“Harry, I’ve known for years.”

“Mom magic, I guess.” Harry sighed. “I’ll tell him eventually. I just don’t know how.”

Lily pulled into the driveway and parked the car, pulling her son into a tight hug. “You’ll need to tell your father before he finds out on his own.”

“I know. I’ll find a way, eventually.”

…

It turned out Hermione hadn’t broken anything, but had managed to sprain her wrist of all things. She was back to work on Saturday and operating normally, if not with more caution. Harry interrogated Ron about the trip to the hospital and what the doctor had said.

“She’s fine. You know Hermione. Even if she had broken something, she would still want to be back to work as soon as possible.”

Harry nodded, glancing over at Hermione, leaning into the microphone to give her standard warning, using more words than the script called for in order to be more ‘informative’. 

“I ran into Snape at the rink after you left. We ate cake.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “What did your dad have to say about that?”

“Luckily, it was my mom that came to get me. She told me in the car that if it had been my dad, there would have been a fight.”

“She’s not wrong about that.” Ron shook his head and faked a smile. “Did you have a nice ride home?” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Oh, sure. If you consider a tense discussion about Snape being gay and me coming out when I really had no intention to ‘nice’.”

Ron patted Harry’s shoulder sympathetically. “I don’t think coming out is ever ‘graceful’. Charlie came out as ‘asexual’ last year, and Mom still hasn’t gotten over it.”

“Asexual? Like a plant?”

“Like he has no interest in anyone and probably never will. It doesn’t make too much of a difference. There’s so many of us already, there’ll be seventy grandchildren before she knows it.”

Harry snorted and smacked Ron on the back as Albus walked up to where they were sitting.

“Hello, young Weasley. Harry, I need your assistance here on the Pirate Ship. I’ve gotten a complaint about one of the lap bars. You can relieve Ms. Granger, Ronald.”

Ron nodded and darted off to relieve his girlfriend.

“Which one, sir?” Harry asked as he fished out the ‘Out of Order’ sign from the storage box.

“Far right, over there. A small child was hanging on for dear life about an hour ago. It took this long to calm him down and for word to get back to me.”

Harry nodded and took a look at the lap bar, frowning and moving to the other side to have a look. “I think this bolt is a different width. Would that affect it rattling or not closing completely?”

“Over time, I believe so. What sizes are they?

Harry checked and pulled his limited stock of bolts out of his tool bag, as well as a sizer.

“Where did you find those? I’ve been looking for my sizer for months.”

“I like to dig around. Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright. Hand me my ratchet wrench will you?”

Harry held and turned as instructed, and when they tested the latch bar, it held.

“Should I take the sign down?”

“I’d like to check all the lap bars first. Start on that side, will you?”

Harry went seat by seat, checking lap bars, and by the time they were done, he was covered in sweat, the summer sun warming him considerably. Albus smiled after inspecting Harry’s work, his blue eyes almost seeming to sparkle. 

“You can take an early lunch, Harry. Thank you.” Harry put his tools away and stashed his bag, spotting Hermione and walking over to fill her in on what had happened Thursday night. Hermione nodded gravely as he detailed the rink, cake, and less than ideal conversation on the ride home.  
Hermione pulled him into a hug, pulling away after a moment with a grimace. “You smell horrible. What have you been up to?”

Harry lifted an arm to smell himself and grinned. “Does my manly odor bother you, ‘Mione? I’ve been working outside for over an hour. What do you expect?”

“I expect you to wear enough deodorant and cologne that this wouldn’t be an issue.” She said with a laugh, motioning Dumbledore over as he passed by. “Is there a shower that Harry can use? He smells horrible.”

“I do not!” Harry insisted, but Dumbledore took a close look at him and chuckled, which Harry took as a sign that he looked about as grody as he smelled.

“I believe there’s still an attached shower in the men’s restroom down here. Why don’t I meet you there with a towel?”

Harry sighed but had to admit a cool shower sounded nice. He may have forgotten to put on deodorant this morning as he’d been in a hurry to avoid talking to his father . . . In the men’s restroom, Dumbledore handed Harry a towel and an extra uniform shirt, assuring him that he could take all the time he needed as there weren’t any pressing repairs at the moment. Harry found the shower easily enough, but didn’t trust the ancient looking soap one bit. It would have to be a quick rinse, then.

Harry closed the curtain and draped the towel and shirt over the rail, starting the water and stepping back until it was the right temperature. He began to relax little by little under the warm spray, trying to forget about the conversation in the car, or the fact that he would have to face his father at some point, who’s supposedly had suspicions already. Harry supposed he hadn’t really tried to hide it. 

He hadn’t thought much about how he’d only dated once, and it hadn’t gone well. Cho Chang had been pretty and smart, and she’d liked Harry first, which was probably why he’d asked her out. They’d dated for a few months in school, and kissing her was nice, he guessed. Not arousing, but nice. And Ron’s little sister Ginny had liked him since she’d first laid eyes on him, when he’d been in sixth grade and she’d been in fifth. He liked Ginny a lot, as a friend. She was honest and clever, and unlike most girls he had met, didn’t give a damn if people thought she was pretty. She wanted respect, and earned it easily.

But Harry wasn’t attracted to Ginny, any more than he was attracted to Hermione, who at this point was the sister he’d never had. And maybe it had started with Oliver Wood. The older boy had been Harry’s soccer coach throughout middle school and part of high school until he’d graduated, and Ron had made fun of his hero worship for months. But was it hero worship? Harry couldn’t forget the wet dreams he’d had over the years. Oliver smiling in the winter sunlight, Oliver ruffling his hair after a hard-won victory, Oliver kissing his way down his chest . . . 

Harry shook his head to clear it. He wanted a shower. He was here to get clean not to . . . think about Snape’s wrists apparently. 

“Really? No, not now.” Harry groaned and scowled down at his erection. It was a lost cause. He avoided his erection until, in a fit of irritation, Harry quickly grasped it and tried to finish before someone came in and heard him. His breath quickened, and Harry’s head knocked against the cool tile as he hissed “Sev-” and cut himself off as he came.

Harry blushed, rinsing off his hand and the evidence of his orgasm. He grabbed the towel and dried off, feeling a bit like he might cry. This was frustrating, knowing he shouldn’t want anything to do with Snape, but being unable to stop thinking about him. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it on, realizing he’d left his shorts on the counter just as he heard a cough and one of the toilets flush. FUCK.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non Magic AU. Teen Angst ahead, and RIDES!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some smut, so I mean . . . be aware?

…

Harry left the bathroom in a hurry, but of course saw no one around that might have heard him. He hoped they had only stopped in to wash their hands and hadn’t heard him say Snape’s name, or hadn’t heard anything, preferably. 

It probably hadn’t been Albus, so that left Neville, Ron, Dean, or . . . or Snape. Harry shuddered. Please, not Snape. Anyone but Snape.

Harry ordered a hot dog at the snack bar and watched Neville closely. Nothing out of the ordinary there: Neville dropped the mustard bottle as he often did, and apologized too many times. He didn’t mention anything about Snape or look at Harry awkwardly. Harry took his hot dog and soda with a sigh. 

He had a feeling his mental list would grow shorter and his day would get massively worse when he found out if anyone had heard him. Eating his hot dog in record time, Harry wandered the park and found Albus at the Magic Carpet, chatting with Snape. He sat a ways off and finished his soda, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant and sneaking glances at Snape on occasion. 

The man looked tense, one hand clutching the rail and the other clutching the doorway of his booth. Whatever Albus said to Snape made the other man shake his head, and Albus patted Snape on the shoulder, coming down the ramp and spotting Harry.

“Hello there. If you’d follow me to the tower? I’d like to start reorganizing my storage room, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not, sir. I’m being paid to help you, anyway. Why would I mind?”

Albus chuckled and Harry followed him to the storage room, opening a window and preparing himself to get sweaty again, if necessary.

He wound up unearthing more useful things to add to his tool bag, and Albus told him several times that he was grateful for the help, as it was getting harder for him to lift and carry too much throughout the day. Harry admitted he wouldn’t have expected it, with the way Albus still trotted around the park, climbing and jumping nearly as much as Harry some days.

“Perhaps it’s all in the intent. I like climbing on railings. Cleaning, I can’t say I have any fondness for.”

Harry laughed and agreed, opening a box labelled ‘Christmas Photos’. Stacks of frameless photos were stuffed haphazardly into the box. 

“Sir, why are these here?”

Albus came over to look and smiled. “I can’t bear to throw them away. Those are photos from the Christmas and End of Summer parties we have every year. There may be some of your parents in there, if you’d like to look. You can take a few off my hands.”

Harry sorted through the photos as Albus wandered away, glancing through groups of people he vaguely recognized through town. Most of the Weasley children made an appearance. 

And then he saw it. A photo dated from his parent’s . . . senior year? They held hands, and on his mother’s other side was none other than Snape himself. Harry studied Snape’s expression. The man was smirking a little, the closest to a smile he seemed capable of producing, and looking slightly to his right, at Lily. 

Harry frowned at that. His mother had said there was nothing going on. But did Snape want there to be?

“Ah, I see you’ve found your parents.” Harry startled a bit, as Albus sounded right behind him. “Has your father told you about the shenanigans he got into with that Sirius Black?”

Harry turned slowly, forcing himself to calm down and breathe. It’s not like Dumbledore knew . . .

“A little. I know Sirius was banned from the park as a child because he wandered over a few gates.”

Albus laughed. “Wandered is an interesting way to put it. We had video evidence of him climbing over gates taller than he was at the time.” 

“That sounds about right.” Harry laughed, knowing his Uncle Sirius was a bit of a trouble maker. His father insisted Sirius got them both into trouble more often than not, but Harry was sure his father was a willing participant.

“Can I keep this picture, sir?”

“Albus, Harry. Yes, of course. One or two from each year . . . I can stand to get rid of at least one.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he would tell his parents about the photo or not. His mother might be interested in seeing it, for old time’s sake. His father, on the other hand, might have a fit about Harry owning a picture with Snape in it, however minutely.

…

Harry spent a rare night at home, opting to stay in and catch up on a pet project instead of sticking around with Ron and Hermione, who were a little too enthusiastic about being a honeymoon-phase teenaged couple. He dug an old robotics kit out of his closet, something he’d received as a Christmas present years back and never opened. 

Harry glanced over the instructions and got the gist, throwing on an album he’d bought with his latest paycheck. He sat cross-legged in his bedroom, humming to the bass lines as he worked. He didn’t hear his mother opening his door an hour later.

“Is this The Smiths?”

Harry jumped, dropping a micro-chip he’d been carefully gluing onto the plush carpet with a groan. “Uh, yeah. I just bought it.” Harry examined the microchip with a frown, peeling the carpet hairs from the adhesive side with his stub nails, wiping them off on his jeans.

“Severus and I used to listen to this album.” Lily said quietly, perching on the edge of Harry’s bed, head cocked with a small smile as she listened. “Did he tell you that?”

“No, I heard it on the Magic Carpet. I had to sing what I remembered to the guy at the record store.”

Lily smiled knowingly, reaching over to nudge the volume down on Harry’s stereo. “Harry-”

“Please don’t lecture me. I would have found it eventually and if Dad finds out where I heard it, I’m sure he’ll explode or . . . whatever.”

Lily looked at her son, shaking her head with a sigh after a moment. “You’ve clearly thought of everything I would say, hm? I’ll leave you to your kit, baby. Glad you’re getting around to it. Dinner’s in half an hour, okay?”

“What are we eating?”

“Pizza and wings.”

Harry smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in a while, waiting to make sure the door stayed closed before sighing with relief. After a moment, he stood to crank the stereo back up.

…

Harry brought part of the photograph to dinner with him (the other half being hidden in an old pair of briefs in his underwear drawer). His father, home from work and pleasantly surprised by pizza, was a little too busy reminiscing about his antics with Sirius that year to catch the calculating look Lily sent her son across the dinner table, and his flushed face in response. 

Lily said nothing about the fact that Severus had been to her other side that day, or that the picture was torn, with Severus’ half of the room mysteriously missing. Harry was old enough to heed her warning or suffer the consequences. Considering his reluctance to broach the topic, Lily knew Harry felt guilty for hiding this, but also felt there was something going on to be ashamed of. She wondered if calling Severus for a chat would do any good. 

There was no point getting James riled up about what could very well be a simple friendship for Severus, who had such a hard time making friends as it was. And Harry . . . Well, Harry had Ron and Hermione now, who had been a godsend for her naturally shy son. Lily could tell Harry hated the attention being the son of a star athlete and student leader had brought him. He disliked talking to people he didn’t already know, and made friends by close proximity. It didn’t surprise her that Harry had taken a liking to Severus, considering their similarities. 

She was rather surprised Severus had been so lenient of Harry’s naïve infatuation, but he seemed to have mellowed a bit since they’d been close all those years ago. At the rink, she could read his gaze toward Harry, tolerant but wary. She was surprised she still knew him well enough to know what he was thinking, even after all this time. He’d always hated that. Severus liked to be a mystery, even if it meant being purposely obtuse.

Lily drifted back into the moment as Harry excused himself from the dinner table to fiddle with his robotic kit a bit more before bed. 

James finished his pizza and studied the picture Harry had left behind. “Can you believe Dumbledore keeps all these photos in his tower? I’m surprised he’s never mentioned it . . . Not that I’d ever want a picture of Snivellus lying around my hou-OW!”

Lily smirked as James rubbed the shoulder she’d smacked. “You know how I feel about that name.”

“Yes, yes, well he hasn’t changed much, has he? Still at Whatnot playing that awful music, ignoring everyone in the world like he’s so high and mighty . . . Doesn’t help that he’s always in a pissy mood.”

Lily soothingly rubbed the shoulder she had assaulted. “Severus had a hard life before you met him, James. It’s made him very distrusting.” 

“You’ve only told me several million . . .” James trailed off, seeing the storm clouds gathering behind Lily’s sharp gaze. He knew he was on thin ice and would rather not be kicked out of bed at 3 a.m. (His back was starting to complain as of late.) 

He sighed and toyed with the edge of the torn photograph. “I know Harry’s interested in Snape. And I know nothing I say will change his mind. But I want him to choose right. I want him to be happy.”

“You’d rather he have one less friend?”

“I’d rather he found a nice boy his own age to experiment with, if my son’s going to wind up gay after all.”

Lily raised an eyebrow and went upstairs without a word. James watched her go and slammed a fist on the dining room table, unsatisfied as the disposable dinner ware they’d used for the night fluttered slightly. With a grunt, he stood to clear the table.

…

Nearly an hour after he heard his parents go to bed, Harry played his album for the umpteenth time (quieter, gentler) and studied the picture of Snape he had stowed away for later. By the faint light of his neon alarm clock, he could almost imagine Snape’s smirk turning into a predatory grin. Harry stifled a groan as he plunged into a fantasy. 

Snape in his bedroom, Snape sitting on the edge of his bed, neatly rolling up his sleeves to reveal thin wrists. Fantasy Snape’s eyes burned into Harry’s as he fumbled to shove down his pajama bottoms, freeing his sudden erection (young, stupid). Snape – No, Severus – reached up to tuck his hair behind his ears as Harry stroked himself, quickly. 

“Harry.” that voice echoed in Harry’s mind as he began to arch, trying his best to be quiet, breathing heavily as Severus loomed over him, hair falling in curtains around Harry’s face, hands pressing firmly on his waist. Harry came hard with a choked gasp.

It took him longer to come down than ever before, his heart still racing long after he’d wiped his hand on the towel shoved beneath his bed for such occasions. Harry lay staring blankly at his ceiling, letting the reality of the situation wash over him. He’d just come thinking about Snape. He’d just come harder than he could remember thinking about Snape’s wrists and eyes and – oh, god – hands, hands holding him down. 

Harry felt the sting as tears of frustration began to prick behind his eyes. How was he going to face Snape that weekend?

…

It turned out he didn’t have to. For perhaps the first time in nearly twenty years, Snape wasn’t at Whatnot. When Harry asked Dumbledore what he was allowed to know, trying to appear casual, the older man simply smiled and said Snape had called in, and considering his attendance record, he’d more than earned a day off. That left them a little short staffed, however, so Dumbledore assigned Harry to operate The Magic Carpet until the later shift came in. 

The controls seemed simple enough, though Harry noticed the teenaged girls seemed happy to see him operating instead of the usually dour Snape.

Harry enjoyed being in the booth, imagining Severus sitting on the same stool, noticing the wear marks from where his longer legs rested on the edges of the control system, the notch on the counter edge from his books. The permanent condensation ring from Snape’s drinks (orange flavored soda, Harry had discovered one day while feeling particularly adventurous.) 

The pop station Harry played was a nice change of pace, he had to admit. He almost didn’t want to leave, smiling at Dean with a quiet goodbye and shuffling to leave the booth.

“Oh, Harry?” Harry turned to see Dean holding out a small scrap of notebook paper. “I think you dropped this.” 

Harry took the paper with a puzzled ‘Thank you’, unfolding it as he made his way toward the fountain. It was starting to get late, and he had to tilt it to see.

"Potter"

That was all? Someone had written his name in spidery, precise script, pressed the pen so hard it had nearly ripped . . . Harry swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. So Snape had been thinking about him, too. But thinking how? Was he- Did he- 

Harry flushed. What kind of thoughts was Snape having about him if he was apparently scrawling his name forcefully on a scrap of paper? Harry scanned the park, spotting Ron and Hermione near the entrance, chatting. They hadn’t made plans for after work, but Harry knew they expected him to stay and decide together what to do afterward. He carefully folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket, smiling at his friends as he turned to face them.

…

At the drive-in later that night, Harry leaned his chair back too far on purpose, amused by Ron’s sputtering complaints. The previews suited the horror film they’d agreed to see, each with creepy music and a signature jump-scare near the end. 

He heard Hermione and Ron chuckling from the back seat as he jumped during one scene, heard the signature sound of their kiss and grumbled under his breath, “Already?” During the previews now, apparently.  
He opened his box of caramel chews as the film began, watching with interest and a rapid pulse as the opening sequence showed a dark shadow search a seemingly empty house, only to come across a small boy in bed. The screen went dark as the boy screamed, a haunting sound that was abruptly cut off, and the opening credits began to play. 

This was the third movie in a series, Harry remembered. Though he hadn’t heard great things about the first two, he hoped this one would be at least a little better . . . Maybe not. The acting in the first few scenes was not promising, not to mention the increasingly frequent kissing noises coming from Ron and Hermione in the back seat were throwing him off. They’d promised to tone it down this time around, but it didn’t seem to be happening thus far. 

Ron’s parents insisted Harry be present for all of Ron and Hermione’s outings lately, seeming to notice the two getting more physical, but Harry had been leaving them on their own more and more, too annoyed by their displays of affection to stick around for the Weasley’s sake. Harry grumbled something about getting a drink from the snack bar and climbed out of the car.

…

Harry bought his soda and slowly weaved through the sea of parked cars toward Hermione’s. Looking ahead to the screen, it looked like someone was about to die. Harry chuckled, wondering how a particularly wooden actress was going to (attempt) to respond to sudden death. 

He nearly tripped stepping in a dip in the ground, and looked up to see a dark haired man climb into an old SUV. Harry could have sworn it was Snape. Cautiously, he made his way to the passenger side and crept up (knowing he looked ridiculous). Glancing through the window confirmed that it was indeed Snape, settling in for a movie by himself by the looks of it.

Taking a moment to gather his courage, Harry reached forward with a free hand and toyed with the door handle a moment before jerking it open and clambering inside. To say Snape was surprised would be an understatement. The man looked positively shocked.

“What the fuck-”

“I’m sorry. I saw you were here and I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

“You climbed into my car.”

“Yes.” They stared at each other for a long moment. Snape’s expression didn’t soften and Harry looked away, blushing. “Sorry. I . . . You weren’t at work today. I couldn’t exactly ask Dumbledore why.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.” Snape said curtly. “Certainly, he told you that.”

“He may have mentioned it.” Harry admitted, taking a sip of his soda. Orange soda, he realized, something he’d never cared for until he’d discovered it was Snape’s . . . God, he felt so pathetic.

“Is there a reason you’re here? You don’t have a car, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No, no, I came with Ron and Hemione. But the movie was horrible and they were making out during the previews, so I-”

“Climbed into the car of someone you barely know, who your parents don’t approve of?” Snape’s expression clearly said what he thought of that, and Harry looked at Snape in surprise. 

“How do you know my parents don’t like you?”

“It’s not complicated, Potter. Your father has hated me since the day we met. I’m sure he’s convinced your mother that I’m a horrendous creature by now.”

“My mom still likes you, Snape. She just wants me to be careful.” Harry realized too late what he had said and watched in horror as Snape smirked. 

“Careful? Does she think so little of me now that I would steal you away?” Snape scowled at Harry’s choked denial. “That’s disgusting. Get out of my car.”

Harry swallowed against the growing lump in his throat. “You wrote my name, Snape.” He said quietly, toying with his straw.

“What?” Snape bit out, managing to sound both enraged and . . . concerned.

Harry pulled the crumpled paper out of his pocket and smoothed it out on the dashboard, 'Potter' visible in the faint movie screen light. “Dumbledore asked me to operate The Magic Carpet today while you were gone, and this was on the floor.” 

Snape went pale, something Harry hadn’t known was possible with his inherent coloring. “That meddling ancient fuck.”

“Snape, I’m sorry. I-”

“He told me I needed to take a day off, because you were, you were . . . And I agreed, because I thought it was the right thing to do, and now this.”

Harry struggled to understand, suddenly clammy fingers tracing the etched words unconsciously. “He heard me in the bathroom. Oh my God.”

Snape rubbed a hand over his face, raking his hair back with a sardonic laugh. “He was very adamant that I take a day off, to give you time away to focus.”

“It won’t do any good. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Harry said quietly, setting his soda down in the cup holder.

Snape fiddled with the radio, turning up the sounds of two women arguing to a deafening level, then turning it off. He fidgeted a bit, scratching at the steering wheel in front of him, something Harry knew from hours of observation was uncharacteristic of him. 

“Get out of my car, Potter. Please.”

“No.” Harry whispered, splaying his hands on the dash, the tips of his fingers brushing the paper, Potter carved into it, over and over- 

Snape moved quickly, so quickly Harry flinched, thinking he was going to be hit. Snape’s fingers were surprisingly gentle, nudging Harry’s head to face him. Harry looked into eyes that were surprisingly dark (Fantasy Snape had softer eyes, for sure) and then Snape kissed him. 

Harry had never been kissed and felt his body tremble in reaction. Had never felt his heart stop, only to thud so hard he may have been dying. Harry raised an uncertain hand, brushing Snape’s lank hair, sinking fingers into it with a moan.

They kissed slowly, wetly. Harry breathed through his nose desperately, unwilling to pull away just yet, unwilling to let this end, ever. Snape moved a hand from Harry’s face to his collarbone, trailing. 

Harry pulled away, gasping. “Don’t, please don’t. I’ll-”

Snape kissed him again, harder, thin fingers skimming down Harry’s shirt to brush over the tent in his jeans. Harry jerked his hips with a cry, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face in Snape’s neck. “Fuck”, he whispered, sloppily kissing the taut chords he found there. “I want you. Oh, I want . . .” 

Harry spread his legs with a choked noise and Snape cupped him firmly, pressing and kneading until Harry couldn’t think straight, could only whimper as he came thrusting against Snape’s hand. Harry realized dimly as he bit Snape’s neck that it wasn’t ‘Potter’ that Snape was moaning, it was ‘Harry’.

Harry took a long moment to catch his breath, listening in the near silence as Snape’s breathing slowed, too. He pulled away, shifting uneasily at the wetness in his pants, the damp stain at the front. “Severus-”

“Don’t.” Snape covered his face with both hands, something Harry had never seen him do before. “God, Potter . . . What are you doing?”

“I want to touch you.” Harry reached over to Severus’ lap, but stopped in his tracks, realizing he had no idea what to do, didn’t know the first thing about pleasuring another man.

“You’ve done enough already. Won’t your friends wonder where you are?” Snape spat out the word ‘friends’ like it hurt him to say, and Harry felt a pang of loneliness for this man, who had had at most two friends and had lost one nearly twenty years before.

“My friends are too busy being a teenaged couple to notice anything I do.” Harry said quietly, lifting a finger to bite the jagged beginnings of a fingernail. Oh God, he had kissed Snape. He had cum while kissing Snape. 

Snape watched the shock overtake Harry’s face and sighed. “Albus is going to fire me for this.”

“Albus doesn’t need to know.” Harry mumbled around his nail biting. “My parents don’t need to know. And neither do Ron and Hermione, actually.”

“Nothing stays a secret at Whatnot, Potter.”

“Are you ever optimistic?”

“Never.” Snape shot back, smirking a little when Harry glared. “Go back to your friends, child. The sooner you forget about this, the better.”

“I don’t want to forget!” Harry insisted, touching his kiss-swollen lips unconsciously. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“You’re a fool, and I hope you find someone your own age by the end of the summer.” 

Harry shook his head with a snort. “What if I never do? What if I only want you?”

“Then you’re a moron and there’s nothing I can do. You don’t know me, Potter. I’m not what you think you want.”

Harry studied his fingertips, looked out the window at the soundless movie Snape had initially come here to see. His eyes wandered from the screen in front of them to the one just beyond, where the last teen was running for her life. Ron and Hermione were probably worried by now, although it wouldn’t be the first time Harry had wandered off. He always made it by the end of the credits. 

He looked around the cabin of Snape’s ancient SUV, noticing the strawberry air freshener, the paper with his name, still on the dash. Snape had to have strong feelings about him, Harry knew it. Whether they were good, bad, or a mixture of the two, Harry wasn’t sure. But you didn’t write someone’s name on a scrap paper and make out with them if you didn’t care at all. Snape was probably just scared of getting hurt . . . Right?

“Do you hang around here when you’re not at the skating rink?”

Snape shook his head with a sardonic smile. “If I told you, you’d stalk me incessantly. Now, get out of my car.” Harry bit his lip but obeyed, only pausing to pitch forward and kiss Snape once, hard, before slipping out and stumbling toward the bathroom to clean up. 

He left his soda and the scrap paper with Snape.

…

Harry reported to the maintenance tower the next day and greeted Dumbledore in what he hoped was a convincing manner. He was a little wary of the man considering he’d heard him in the bathroom and spoken to Snape about it, but Dumbledore didn’t seem to be treating him any differently. 

Harry shrugged it off and got to work, ratcheting and lubricating and checking the latches on everything he was told to. He felt relieved when Dumbledore told him to take his lunch break.

Harry had told Ron and Hermione that he’d run into Dean at the drive-in and hung out until he thought the movie was over. He was lucky enough to have a word with Dean at the Snack Bar before they asked, and Dean gave him a knowing look. 

“I think there’s something going on that you don’t want to tell me. But that’s okay. I’ll cover for you.”

Harry grinned at that. “Thanks, Dean. I owe you one.”

“You should tell your friends about your boyfriend, Harry. They’re going to find out eventually.”

Harry stared, gobsmacked. “Dean, I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not gay.”

“Right.” Dean chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

Harry watched him move to the next window with a sinking feeling. Was it that obvious?

Harry took his sweet time moseying around on his break, still unsure how much Dumbledore knew. Had he planted the paper? Had he even known it was there? Harry spotted Ron at the Pirate Ship and hopped a railing to land right next to him, laughing outright as Ron jumped a little. 

“Gah! Why do you always do that?”

“Because I’m young and agile?” Harry ventured, and Ron shoved him a little. “How was the movie last night? I missed most of it because of your make out session.” 

Harry failed to mention he’d had quite a bit of one of his own, but he planned on never telling Ron or Hermione, and so far, so good.

“It was alright.” Ron mumbled, blushing. “I honestly couldn’t tell you who lived until the end.”

“I heard bad reviews anyway.” Harry smiled weakly and helped Ron check the lap bars of several children who were a little wet from a water ride. With an approving nod from Ron, he smacked the start button before pulling his friend aside as the ship swung higher and higher. “Have your parents . . . Do they know I’m not always with you?”

“I think they’re catching on.” Ron said with a sigh, squinting at the ship as it sailed the other way. “My mom’s been giving me these looks, like she’ll know when it happens by looking at me, I don’t know. And my Dad’s even worse. He’ll stop in my doorway and sigh, and I found condoms in my sock drawer the other day. They’re being really weird about it. It wasn’t like this with my brothers.”

“What did they do about your brothers?”

“Yelled, mostly. And you see where that got ‘em.” Harry chuckled at that. Most of Ron’s brothers had dated throughout high school and married young. Maybe Ron’s parents were lucky their youngest son was a late bloomer. 

Harry waited until the ride stopped completely before tapping the ‘unlatch’ button for the lap bars. The kids scampered out of the boat in a hurry, one of them tripping on the edge and falling, hard. Harry rushed forward and helped the little boy to stand. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and was trying not to cry, though a few tears escaped.

“Are you okay?”

“Nooo.” His face crumpled as he began to cry in earnest.

“Alright, alright.” Harry murmured, shooting Ron a frown. “I’m on break. I’ll take him to the office.”

It wasn’t a long walk, but Harry tried to keep the boy focused on something other than his wrist, which already looked a little swollen. Ushering him into the office, Harry froze in his tracks at the sight of Snape looking bored behind the counter. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry choked out, to which Snape replied with his signature smirk. 

“Such a rude child. What’s going on here?”

Harry explained that the little boy had tripped and possibly sprained his wrist, and Snape spoke to the boy briefly (in a soft tone completely foreign to Harry.) He fetched an ice pack, gauze, and children’s ibuprofen, gently wrapping his wrist and prodding him to drink water and give him a phone number.

Harry watched in amazement as the boy sat still for Snape, clearly calmer now. Snape called ‘Jackie’s parents, who had left the boy in the care of an older cousin. Harry watched Snape, only breaking the gaze when they made eye contact. He blushed, remembering the feel of Snape’s lips on his, the feel of his hand . . .

“Is there anything else, Potter? Albus is probably expecting you in the tower.”

“No, I . . . I was wondering if you’re going to the End of Summer party this year?” It had slipped out, but Harry had been wondering. About as much as Harry wondered about Snape anyway, which was a lot.

“I had considered it. I haven’t gone in quite a while.”

Harry understood immediately. Snape had barely gone to a Whatnot party since his mother left all those years ago. What would have been the point? Snape didn’t like anyone else, and they certainly didn’t like him. Without Albus giving him a place to work, Harry wondered what Snape would have been doing all this time. 

“Well, I hope you go. I’ll be there, if that makes a difference.”

Snape stared at Harry for a long while, then smiled, or as close to a smile as he could manage. “Perhaps.”

…

Ron and Hermione sat on Harry’s bed, dishing out Chinese food as Harry nervously paced in front of his window. “What if he doesn’t go? Or worse, what if he does?”

“Calm down.” Ron grumbled, holding out a bowl to Harry as he passed, too occupied to notice. “It’s not like you’re actually going to talk to him if he does. You haven’t spoken to him since you took that kid to the office.”

“Snape’s been watching him, though.” Hermione chimed in, breaking her chopsticks apart. “I saw him actually turn his head to watch Harry walk by yesterday.”

Ron grunted, mouth full of his own food as he tried to offer Harry a bowl again. Harry took it grudgingly and dropped into his desk chair.

“I don’t know what to think.” Harry admitted, toying with his fork. (He had a knack for dropping chopsticks, and had given up after making a mess one too many times.) “He said he was going. But Snape seems like the type to lie for his own amusement. He doesn’t care.”

“That’s an interesting character study, Harry.” Ron said with a chuckle. “How much time have you put into this?”

“Too much.” Harry admitted, digging into his food. His parents had gone out for the night, so he didn’t have to worry about them overhearing an incriminating comment. “I actually, uh, have something to tell you guys.”

Hermione raised a brow, which reminded Harry of Snape, and he looked away. “We’ve never told your secrets before, you know.”

“It’s just . . . This is bigger. This is . . . potentially illegal.”

Hermione gasped and set her food on the nightstand to stand and smack him. “Harry!”

“I don’t wanna know!” Ron shouted. Hermione gave him a look and he groaned, “What did you do?”

“Sit down.” Harry said to Hermione, and took a shaky breath before visibly trying to relax. “I didn’t hang out with Dean at the Snack Bar. I, uh, I ran into Snape.”

Ron and Hermione stared at him in silence for a long, long moment. Harry cleared his throat and stuffed a forkful of chow mein into his mouth. 

“Well, fuck.”

“Ronald!”

“I’m sorry, but you heard him. Something vaguely illegal? He was gone for an hour!”

Harry swallowed hard and stared down into his bowl. He regretted telling his friends, but knew he would’ve felt worse if he’d tried to hide it much longer. “I’m not sorry.” He said softly.

“What happened?” Hermione said finally, scooting to the edge of the bed to lean closer.

“Well, I was on my way back from the Snack Bar and saw Snape getting into his car. So I climbed in.” Hermione gasped, but Harry pushed on, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. “We talked, I confronted him about having feelings for me, and we made out.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.” she whispered

“He did.” Ron nodded, looking Harry in the eye. “That’s why they haven’t been talking. Snape’s avoiding you, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know.” Harry sighed. “He kept telling me to get out of the car and then he kind of . . . went for it, I guess.”

“You need to stay away from him.” Hermione said firmly, shaking her head. Harry couldn’t tell if she was truly angry, or just being protective on his behalf. “I know you have a crush on him, Harry, but if he’s willing to jeopardize his job like that with a minor, he clearly can’t control himself.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” Harry mumbled, and Ron stood and set down his bowl. This was serious. Ron didn’t set down food without an occasion. 

He walked to Harry’s chair and gripped him by both shoulders. Harry ducked his head, and Ron pushed him slightly back against the chair. “Look at me.”

Harry looked up into Ron’s concerned face. 

“This is not going to end well. Snape is messing with you for his own amusement. Once he’s done, he’s not going to stick around, Harry. He’s going to go back to his life and forget you ever happened.”

Harry felt himself tear up unexpectedly and ducked his head again. “Why are you saying that? Why don’t you think I can make my own decisions?”

Hermione sighed. “It’s not that, Harry. We don’t want you to get hurt. And I honestly can’t see this ending well. Think about it. Snape hasn’t really talked to anyone besides Dumbledore for a decade. He’s mean, and he hasn’t tried to make friends this entire time. Don’t you think you’re giving him a bit much for no effort on his part?”

Harry sniffled, feeling his face heat up. Ron let go, backing away to sit on the bed again. Harry saw Hermione clasp his hand through the haze of tears. So this was how it was going to go? Wonderful.

“You guys wouldn’t understand. You have each other already. What if . . . What if no one else wants me? What if Snape is the only one besides you who even sees me?”

“You know that’s not true, Harry. There are plenty of people who would love to get to know you if you would let them in. Dean, Neville, even Ginny . . .”

Harry set his bowl on the desk, having completely lost his appetite. He covered his face with both hands and tried to calm down. His friends were just trying to protect him, but Harry couldn’t help feeling like he was in too deep already, now that Snape knew how he felt, or at least knew that he was willing to get physical. 

And Harry was curious. He didn’t want to end this so abruptly, when everything concerning Snape made his heart race, kept him up at night-

“Let’s not talk about this too much, alright?” Harry said, lowering his hands, trying his hardest to smile. Ron and Hermione did not look convinced. “He’s probably not going to the party, and I can just go on with my life. Summer’s almost over anyway, right? I never have to see him again, if I don’t want to.”

Harry reached over and turned on his stereo, still set on the same Smith’s album he’d been listening to for weeks. He stood and put on something more upbeat. Ron and Hermione reluctantly changed the subject to schools they had applied to, which eventually became a good-natured joke about Hermione moving away and meeting a boy named Francois, who literally smoked baguettes and demanded she learn to crotchet the French flag. 

Harry felt a little better after that, managing to finish his dinner, though his stomach was still in knots at the thought of the End of Summer party. What if Snape didn’t go after all?

…

Snape didn’t go after all. 

The End of Summer party was indoors on a humid night, in the multipurpose room attached to the maintenance tower. Harry wasn’t surprised by the overly bright decorations (It was a Dumbledore sponsored function, after all.) He glanced around the room, disappointed to not see Snape among the twenty or so people in attendance. 

He spotted Ron and Hermione, but wasn’t too keen on talking just then, choosing to make the rounds first instead. He spotted Minerva first and made his way over, complimenting her dark hair, flowing freely out of its’ usual restrictive bun.

“How have you been, Harry?”

“Pretty good, thank you. And you?”

“Trying to keep busy. Retirement can be a little . . . underwhelming.”

Harry looked around the room, spotting Dumbledore climbing a ladder to adjust a wayward decoration. Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you think Albus will ever retire?”

Minerva turned to look for her husband and chuckled as he strained to reach from the ladder. “Not likely, Harry. Let’s be honest.”

Harry excused himself and grabbed some punch from the drink table, greeting Dean and Neville who were standing nearby. 

“Why do I always run into you near concessions, Dean?”

“Food is my life.” Dean deadpanned, causing Harry and Neville to choke on their punch with laughter.

“Did they make you guys work on your day off?” Harry joked after clearing his throat

Dean cackled and smacked Harry’s arm. “Of course not. We don’t get paid for this party, so everyone gets their own drinks.” 

Harry spotted Ron and Hermione moving toward him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Are you feeling better?” Neville asked out of the blue, and Harry raised a brow as he sipped his punch.

“Was I sick?”

“You haven’t really talked to us for a month. We thought maybe something had happened.”

Harry blushed and studied the floor. That was about the time he’d first kissed Snape. “I’ve been, you know, distracted.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Hermione said crisply, stepping up to the drink table to grab punch for both herself and Ron. 

Harry sighed. “There’s been a lot going on . . .”

“Tell me about it.” Dean cut in. “My parents are freaking out about college and I really don’t think I’m ready.”

“Me neither.” Harry agreed, grateful for the change of topic. “I still don’t know what I wanna be when I grow up.”

“You were pretty good at theater, if I remember correctly.” Ron offered. “You got the lead every year.”

“Yeah, but you can’t really get a degree for that can you?”

“You’d be surprised.” Hermione said with a smile. “I can get you come brochures if you’d like to find out.” 

Harry nodded. A commotion toward the front of the room drew the group’s attention, and Harry mentally scolded himself as he scanned the room for any sign of Snape.

Albus was addressing the room by the looks of it. “Thank you all for coming tonight, and thank you for being a part of another magical summer at ‘Whatnot’.” 

Harry clapped along with the rest of the crowd, smiling a little sadly. Most of the teens in the room weren’t staying past the summer. 

“I have an announcement to make.” Dumbledore continued. “Minnie and I are going to bed-” 

A catcall cut through the murmuring, and Minerva laughed. “We’re old, Finnegan. We tire easily.” Everyone had a good laugh at that.

“I’m leaving the keys with Mr. Thomas, and I expect you all to behave yourselves.” Dumbledore continued. “Please get home safely and if any . . . emergencies occur, please wake me. Goodnight!”   
He turned to follow Minerva upstairs, but paused and came back down. “My apologies. I was hoping Severus would be here tonight to tell you all himself, but-”

Harry felt his heart turn to ice and drop to his stomach. Distantly, he felt Hermione’s hand close over his own. 

“After nearly twenty years at ‘Whatnot’, our dear Severus is leaving for greener pastures. If any of you would like a full time position, I regret to inform you that there is now one available. Please see the office on Monday if you’ve any questions. I bid you good night.” 

Harry stood shaking as Hermione whispered, “I am so sorry.”

“Yeah. Ron chimed in. “That’s insane. I wonder what happened to make the old bastard lea-”

Harry ripped his hand from Hermione’s and made a dash for the door. He heard Hermione and Ron calling for him, but he was faster and knew the park like the back of his hand after months of behind the scenes maintenance. 

He jogged through the parking lot and into a neighboring field, stopping only after he was out of the ambient light from ‘Whatnot’. He panted, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes.

“Fuck. How . . . FUCK!” He yelled into the darkness. He looked around the empty field just in case someone had heard him, but there was no one in sight, no one coming to investigate. Harry swiped angrily at the tears streaming down hot and fast now, a week’s worth, a month’s worth. 

Snape had lied to him, to his face, no less. He’d said he’d be at the party, in Snape lingo, anyway. Harry was sure of it. And he hadn’t said a damn thing about leaving. Harry’d foolishly thought he cared, or as close as he could expect from Snape. 

Trying to take a few deep breaths in vain, Harry started walking slightly north instead. His grandparents still lived in Spinner’s End. Betting on Snape’s resistance to change (Whatnot, the ancient SUV, holding grudges), Harry reckoned he still did, too. About halfway into Harry’s trek, it began to rain. He began to grumble, straining to see any holes or puddles in the dark roadside he adamantly stuck to in case Ron or Hermione were looking for him, or worse, his father. 

He trudged along in the warm rain, stopping to wring out his drenched shirt. Standing shirtless near the road, he couldn’t help but laugh. “The rain falls hard on a humdrum town. This town has dragged you down.” He sang, putting his shirt back on to continue toward the dim lights of Spinner’s End.

. . .

Harry snuck around to end of the street to avoid his grandparents’ house and spotted the old SUV in front of the last house. He stared up through the rain at the lit window near the back of the house, a beacon. Harry steeled himself, took a deep breath and walked around to the back door, leading to the kitchen, if the layout was the same as his grandparents’. He knocked, listening hard for a response through the rain, hearing nothing. Still, a dark silhouette filled the frosted window.

“Go away!” Snape called, tone tight with suspicion. Harry’d expected this, really.

“It’s raining, Snape. Let me in.” Apparently, Snape recognized his voice, because he tore open the door and yanked Harry inside, closing it after him just as quickly.

“What are you doing here?” Snape demanded, not releasing his grip on Harry’s arm. Harry didn’t mind, not really. He looked around Snape’s small kitchen, dripping wet and stunned. He hadn’t seen Snape from this close in a while, and rarely out of uniform. Snape was clearly settled in for a night at home, if his pajama bottoms were any indication.

“You said you’d be at the party.” Harry blurted.

“I said I would consider it.”

“You were going to leave without saying goodbye,” Harry bit out with a touch of anger. Snape released Harry’s arm as if burned.

“You don’t understand, Potter.”

“Then tell me! Why would you leave without saying goodbye? Why leave now?”

“No.” Snape said flatly, moving toward the phone on the wall. “It’s none of your business. I’m going to call your mother-”

“And tell her what, exactly? That I magically showed up outside your door and you have no idea why?”

“That’s entirely the truth, you moron!” Snape yelled, snatching the phone off the hook.

Harry caught Snape’s gaze. “You know why I’m here, Snape.” He said quietly. They stared at one another for a long moment, a clock from deeper in the house ticking away every heavy second. “Can I dry off at least?”

Snape shook his head initially, but hung up the phone and headed down the hall anyway, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t move, Potter. You’ll get water everywhere.” Harry stood in the kitchen for a beat before heading that way himself, passing Snape rifling through the hall closet to stand on the second step of the stairs. 

“Do you ever listen, Potter?” Snape said without looking. “I said stay put”. 

To anyone else, Snape would have sounded genuinely angry. But Harry had listened to this man, despite his accusation otherwise. He’d studied his tones, expressions . . . His hands . . . 

“Can I have a towel now? Is that what you’re looking for?” 

Snape grunted and closed the hall closet, stepping to the edge of the stairs to hand Harry a fluffy towel. Harry clutched the offered towel and locked eyes with Snape, reading what he saw as an invitation and taking it, leaning to kiss Snape gracelessly. Snape froze, surprised, and Harry coaxed with his tongue, pleading. 

Snape pulled away. “I’ll put you right back out in the rain.”

“You won’t.” Harry murmured, taking a step down so they were closer to their usual heights. He raised a hand and trailed his fingertips on a prominent collarbone. “You can’t.” 

Snape moved then, climbing to crowd Harry against the wall and nipping at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Harry whimpered, grinding his newfound erection against Snape’s thigh. 

“You’re such a child.” Snape growled, hands gripping Harry’s arm again as he licked up Harry’s neck to the soft spot below his ear.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the Drive-In.” Harry managed between pants, spreading his legs as much as his confined surroundings would allow. Snape pulled away, but before Harry could protest, he was quickly turned around and Snape pressed him bodily against the wall, cheek pressed against the old floral wallpaper.

“I told you to get out, Potter.” Snape’s rock hard cock strained through his thin pajama bottoms. 

“Harry. Please call me ‘Harry’.” Harry gasped, arching back to feel the pressure. “Fuck.”

Snape ground against him with a groan. He nosed through Harry’s damp hair to press a sloppy kiss to the base of his neck. Harry trembled, knees going weak as he wavered on the edge, too soon. 

“Please, I’ve waited. I’ve waited so long.”

Snape began to thrust, rutting his clothed erection against the seam of Harry’s jeans, breathing raggedly. Harry jutted his hips back, fumbling with his button and zip, struggling to push the clinging material down his thighs. He finally succeeded, shoving his jeans to his knees and pressing his now bare ass back against Snape, who moaned long and loud before pulling away, heavy breathing a delicious counterpoint to Harry’s own.

“We can’t.” Snape rasped, removing his hands from either side of Harry’s shoulders and stepping away. Feeling rather silly, Harry turned awkwardly on the stairs to face Snape.

“I . . . I don’t understand. Do you want this or not?” Harry studied Snape’s expression, eyes closed, arms at his sides with his fists clenched. He meant it. He really-

“If we do this here, right now, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. There’s no point.”

“I guess ‘I want to’ isn’t a good enough reason for you?” Harry said quietly, stroking the cold skin of his exposed thigh. Snape opened his eyes and pinned him with a stare.

“We have to think about this rationally. There’s no reason to get into this if we don’t have to.”

Harry laughed mirthlessly, shoving his jeans down the rest of the way and kicking them to the bottom of the stairs with a splat. “You don’t get it Snape. I love you, you stupid bastard.”

“You don’t know what love is. You heard it in a song once; you have no idea.” Snape spat out. “It hurts. It ruins your life. Now put your pants back on and go home.” 

Harry bit his lip, but his eyes hardened after a moment. “No.” He said firmly, turning to walk up the stairs with as much dignity as he could muster. He opened to the door to the second largest bedroom and turned on the light, hoping it was Snape’s.

It was. Apparently, inheriting his childhood home hadn’t changed Snape’s choice of bedroom. Harry removed his wet shirt and set in in a corner, shivering in the cool of the room as he looked around. It looked like most of Snape’s possessions had been boxed already, but the closet held several t-shirts and jeans, all either faded black or grey. It only confirmed what Harry had suspected, that Snape was very much a creature of habit. He sighed and lay on the immaculate bedspread, shifting awkwardly toward the middle and folding his hands neatly over his stomach. 

Now, to wait, though he wasn’t sure what for. It had been a long day, a long walk. He began to drift . . .

“Idiot.” Snape muttered as he turned out the light, and Harry came out of the fog, listening to Snape putter around the room, drawers opening and closing, and finally, a dip in the bed next to him. Snape’s lips on his startled him, but Harry opened to it. 

Surprisingly gentle despite the conversation they’d had on the stairs. A warm hand trailed down Harry’s side to pin a hip, and Harry arched against something, anything. Snape pulled away, and Harry fought the involuntary whine. 

“Turn over.” Snape said softly, and Harry barely hesitated to obey, gasping as Snape pushed at his knees to spread them. A large hand pressed soothingly between his shoulder blades. “Relax. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Harry stilled, but let Snape climb above him and settle low. A warm breath ghosted between his spread thighs and Harry let out a soft cry of surprise as Snape spread his ass and licked him firmly.

“You can’t . . . Aaaah . . .” Harry trailed off as the exploration continued, fingers were added, and was teetering thinly on the edge when Snape pulled away abruptly.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I . . . Fuck, I’m close.”

“Not yet.” Snape murmured into the dark of the room. He pressed against Harry then, wide and blunt, and Harry tensed until he could hear Snape saying, “Relax. Push back.” over the initial shock. 

It took time, Harry knew this from the stories the Weasley boys had whispered to them over the years, but Snape was vigilant, testing the resistance based on the noises Harry couldn’t hold back. Finally, he was fully sheathed and they were both out of breath. Harry arched his back experimentally and Snape moaned, low and guttural.

“Fuck me.” Harry said softly, and Snape ground into him. 

“I will. Momentarily.” He pulled fully out and Harry began to push himself up, but Snape returned with slick fingers that pressed into him and Harry spread his legs wider as a jolt of something flared through him. Snape thrust and spread his fingers several times, removing them only to push his cock back into Harry, faster this time. 

Harry cried out as Snape began fucking him in earnest, wrapping a hand around Harry’s shoulder to get better leverage. Snape pounded into him, groaning every so often, strokes shortening until he was rutting, rocking, shoving Harry’s knee higher to get an angle. 

Harry came hard, moaning “Severus”, whining at the tail end of it as his vision whited out in the darkness. Severus stilled and grunted as Harry felt warm liquid flood him and come dribbling out. 

“I love you.” Harry panted afterward, lifting his face from his elbow to say it again. “I’m so sorry, but I do.”

Severus pulled out slowly, and after a moment, clambered off the bed to return with a wet washcloth. Harry flinched.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Harry whispered, and Snape gingerly turned him over. Harry stared up at the dark silhouette, imagining Severus as he probably looked, flushed, sweaty perfect. “I’m so happy, I could die.”

“You’ve been listening to The Smiths.”

Harry barked out a laugh, caught off guard. “How could you tell?”

“You’re easy to read.” Severus admitted, kissing Harry before leaving the bed again, leaving the room.

…

Harry sat at Snape’s kitchen table an hour later, dressed in one of Snape’s pajama bottoms after a quick shower. His whole body hurt. Honestly, he hadn’t known what he’d expected.

Snape was somewhere deeper in the house, retrieving Harry’s clothes from the dryer. Harry didn’t see the point. He knew for damn sure Snape wasn’t giving him a ride anywhere, so he’d be soaked again by the time he got home. Still, it was a nice gesture, he supposed. 

Harry looked around, noticed that a lot of the kitchen looked as it normally would. Maybe Snape wasn’t really moving after all? Or was coming back . . . Harry sighed and looked down at his coffee, growing cold after a long while contemplating. 

He knew nothing about this was going to be easy. Continuing life as normal after Snape left. Keeping such a huge secret from his parents. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell Ron and Hermione either, as neither had been too keen on the idea of pursuing Snape in the first place. 

He downed his lukewarm coffee in several long pulls and rinsed hip cup out in the sink. Reaching to turn off the faucet, Harry noticed a paper cup leaned against the back splash behind the sink. He picked it up, noticing idly that it was the same kind they gave you at the drive in. 

Harry popped off the lid and stared at the inside, empty but for the scrap of paper, with a faded 'Potter' carved into it. He silently put the lid back on and sat down, just as Snape came back into the kitchen. The man glanced at Harry and dumped the warm clothes into his lap. 

“There you are. Now go change.”

Harry looked up at the older man, sure that his shock was clear on his face. “You’re kicking me out? Now?”

“Why would you stay? Your parents and friends are probably looking for you, and if they find you here, I’m going to jail.”

“I wouldn’t go that far-” Harry began, but Snape silenced him with a look.

“Do you really think your father wouldn’t go out of his way to make my life hell if he knew you were here?”

“I know he would. I just don’t want to leave so soon after . . . what we did.”

Snape had the grace to blush, faint though it was in the chilly kitchen. “You can’t stay here, Potter. You know you can’t.”

Harry picked at the frayed skin of his thumb. “Why are you leaving?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Harry looked up sharply, trying to keep his anger in check and failing. “Oh, really?! I’d say it is, considering you’ve fucked me and wrote my name and planned on leaving WITHOUT SAYING A GODDAMN THING!”

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry fumed, holding his tongue only in hopes of finding out something, anything about why Snape was leaving so abruptly.

“I applied to an audio production program, and was accepted. I’m going to college.”

Harry felt the anger seep out of him in a rush, gone as quickly as it’d come. “Why couldn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

“As I said, it was none of your business. I’m going away, and you’re not going with me, so why would it matter?”

“Peace of mind, maybe?”

Snape shook his head with a smirk. “No, Potter. Never from me.” Harry sighed and stood, coming as close to Snape as he dared. The older man looked away, but stood his ground. 

“Even though you’re going somewhere I can’t follow, I’m glad you’ve given me tonight . . . As stupid and soppy as that sounds.”

Snape reached out a hand to touch Harry’s brow, his cheek, his lips. Harry closed his eyes and Snape murmured, “Don’t. Tell. Anyone.”

…

Harry’s grandmother was a good sport about being woken at a late hour by her dripping wet grandson. She ushered him inside the front hall and gave him a towel, tittering about how his parents were ‘worried sick’ and had been looking for him. Harry took the towel and tried not to look too guilty. 

His grandfather groaned his way down the stairs and hugged him despite his wet clothes. “We’re so glad you’re alright.”

“I was only gone for a few hours.” Harry mumbled, which he realized with a sense of detachment was completely true. His life had changed forever in the span of a few hours. Or it felt like it, anyway.

“Well, when you have kids you’ll understand. A few hours missing can be terrifying.”

Harry just nodded and accepted the glass of milk his grandmother offered when she emerged from the kitchen. “Your father’s on his way.” She announced, sitting next to Harry on the couch and handing him a plate of cookies.

“Did you know I was coming?” Harry joked, taking a cookie and trying not to shake. His grandmother chuckled and handed a cookie to his grandfather, who sat quietly on Harry’s other side. Harry ate his cookie and drank his milk in silence, grateful for the soft cushion. He was worried his father would take one look at him and know immediately what he’d done.

James Potter pulled into the driveway sooner than Harry was expecting, and they were given the plate of cookies for the road with strict orders to go straight to bed. Harry was more than ready. It had been a long, eventful night. 

They rode with just the radio between them for most of the ride. When James reached for the volume dial to turn it down, Harry couldn’t help it, he groaned.

“What? I haven’t lectured you in while.”

“Only because Mom beat you to it last time.” Harry grumbled. 

James smiled and reached over to shake Harry’s knee, which set Harry on the edge. The fear of his father somehow ‘knowing’ overtook him again. 

“Where were you?” His father asked, driving slowly along the field Harry had trudged through hours before.

“Here, actually. I left the party and walked to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

“And it took you three hours?” James said, trying to keep his tone calm. He knew Snape still lived in Spinner’s End, but he wasn’t sure if Harry knew. He hoped with everything he had that Harry hadn’t been with Snape. Even if Lily didn’t think there was any harm to it, he knew better. He’d seen his son’s curiosity spike and grow to an obsession. He’d heard The Smiths playing at all hours through the walls.

Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t really planning on going to Spinner’s End. I just kept walking for a while.”

James sighed and glanced at his son, frowning at the damp he was certain had seeped into his seats. “I thought Hermione was giving you a ride home.”

Harry bit his lip and looked out the window, weighing the consequences of the truth or telling a lie. His father would find out about Snape eventually, he supposed. 

“I found out that Snape’s leaving Whatnot. He never mentioned it, and I thought we were pretty good friends.”

“Ah. Well, it’s about time he got out of that booth. Good for him.”

Harry stared at his father. “You hate Snape, but . . . you’re happy for him?”

James huffed a laugh at that. “I’m glad that poor bastard is finally getting out of the same town he’s always lived in. And I’m glad I won’t have to see his stupid face anymore.”

Harry nodded, looking out the window again. “Yeah.” He sighed as they pulled into the driveway. “I’ll probably never see him again.”

…

TWO YEARS LATER

Harry tugged at an already ragged fingernail as he sat waiting at the table, nervous jitters in full effect. He really didn’t expect Snape to show, not after . . . Everything. Snape’s whole life seemed engineered to be as aggravating and lonely as possible. 

Realizing his leg was jiggling beneath the table, Harry grumbled to himself about the cup of coffee he’d sucked down already while waiting. He stood to go to the restroom, but thought better of it as he glanced at his watch. It was nearly time. Either Snape showed or he didn’t, and seeing a nearly empty coffee shop with no sign of Harry would be a death knell for any friendship they may have.

Harry sat down and jiggled some more, nearly rising again and looking up to see a dark haired man slip into the coffee shop. Harry felt the breath leave his body all at once, and stared as Snape walked up and perched gracefully in the chair across from him. The bastard had the nerve to smirk.

“Potter.”

“Oh my God.”

“You don’t need to address me so formally. ‘Snape’ is just fine.”

Harry laughed then, a soul-deep laugh that bubbled up and burst out in sharp bursts. “You got my letters. You read my letters.”

Snape shook his head at that, but the smirk remained. “Do you mean the infantile attempt at postal correspondence that flooded my post box no matter how long I ignored it? I may have glanced-”

“You’re here.” Harry breathed, interrupting him but uncaring. “I have to pee, but please don’t leave. I need to talk to you.”

Snape shook his head at that, cleared his throat. “Coffee?”

“What kind do you like?”

“Strong, black. I’ve had so much coffee during finals, I’ll probably die by the end of the evening.”

“That’s okay. As long as you stay here, die here.”

Snape said nothing, raised a brow. It was so familiar and jarring, Harry blushed and headed for the restroom.

…

He’d ordered Snape’s coffee on the way, and by the time he returned to the table, Snape clutched the cup like a lifeline and was staring into it, failing to look up as Harry sat down.

“Does the coffee have all the answers, Snape?”

“Yes.” The man deadpanned, and Harry huffed softly. This man was different from the Snape he remembered. Then again, this Snape had seen more of the world, had probably met more people out of state than he’d ever met at Whatnot.

“How was school? I had to beg Dumbledore for your mailing address, and even then, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again. You never wrote back.” 

Snape blew on his coffee and took a sip, taking his sweet ass time and Harry knew it, but he also knew that anything concerning Snape required the patience of a saint. So he motioned to the barista for another latte and waited.

“I learned quite a bit.” Snape offered slowly, and Harry tried not to fidget. “I never knew how much music theory comes in handy in audio production. I can explain in essay format why The Smiths wrote such compelling material.” 

Harry grinned at that. Since Snape’s departure, he’d bought all the Smith’s albums he could, and some of Morrissey’s, too. 

“I can tell if a singer is flat, hum a middle C . . . I can assemble a speaker from used parts if need be.” 

Harry grinned. “That sounds amazing. I’d love that.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten you were a grease monkey.” The barista set down Harry’s latte in front of him and shot a glance at Snape before hurrying away. Harry laughed.

“Just because I’m up to my elbows in grease all the time-”

“Even now.” Snape ventured, and Harry examined his hands and nails, though he’d scrubbed them that morning. He grit his teeth. “I was referring to your jeans.” Snape explained, and Harry glanced down to see a faint blotch of old oil on his jeans.

“These are my best pair!” Harry said incredulously, smoothing a hand over the stain. “What can I say? I’ve been busy.”

“Your letters mentioned Albus retiring?”

“Not completely.” Harry smiled a little. “He handed over maintenance to me. Apparently sixty three is the magic age for him to focus on office work and getting his affairs in order.”

Snape chuckled, a soft throaty sound Harry wanted to drown in. “I think Minerva finally talked some sense into him.” 

Snape took a longer sip of his coffee, then abruptly: “Who’s been on the Magic Carpet since I left?”

“Me, actually. We updated the control booth a few months ago, and I had the pleasure of destroying your counter.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of wood, which he extended to Snape. “It’s the notch from your books.” 

Snape stared blankly at Harry for a moment before taking the small piece of wood from him. The notch was shallow, but noticeable. Harry had cut out the bottom and sanded it smooth into a semi-circle. Snape smoothed a thumb over it and felt memories creep around the guard he kept up at all times. It truly felt like a lifetime ago, with Harry’s letters often the only reminder.

“Even if you didn’t want it, I would have kept it. I means a lot to me.” 

Snape nodded, perhaps not even listening as he examined the notch. “This is . . . obsessive.” He said finally. “I can’t imagine what you’ve done with Dumbledore’s pictures of me.”

“Nothing! They’re in Dumbledore’s tower where they’ve always been. Well, except for one.”

Snape looked up sharply and slid the notch back across the table. “You wrote that you’d moved from your parents’ house.”

“After high school, when Dumbledore offered me full time, I decided to strike out on my own. But we still have dinner every week. Ron and Hermione too, whenever they can make it out.”

“Ah. How are the revolting lovebirds?”

“They broke up, actually. In college, Hermione decided she wanted a break from making out to focus on her grades. And Ron found someone else to make out with. We all still talk. There was some drama at first, but we’re all good now.”

Snape nodded and went back to his coffee. Harry had the distinct impression that talking about his friends had made Snape uncomfortable.

“Did you make any friends in school?” He said after a moment, and the older man snorted. 

“If you consider stalking a friendship, then I suppose.”

“You had a stalker?”

“Nearly as persistent as you-”

“Hey!”

“A vocal student took a liking to me after a group project in theory. The more I insulted her, the more she persisted.”

“Sounds familiar.” Harry said with a smirk. “Do you still talk?”

“We’re dating.” Snape said shortly. Harry felt his insides clench, but tried his best to recover.

“Ah, that’s good. Great, actually. Umm, wh-what’s her name?” 

“Nina. An operatic soprano, very pretty.”

“And she’s, uh, dating you?”

Snape scowled and stood. “If you wanted to interrogate and insult me Potter, you could have just come down to the school-”

“NO! No, I wanted to know how you were doing. Please sit down, don’t leave.”

Snape stared at him, hard, and Harry felt a blush rising. Despite desperately wanting to hide, never go outside again, curl up and die, he forced himself to smile. “Please sit down. I’m sorry.”

Snape sat, arms folded and back ramrod straight. “We are dating. I don’t understand it. I’ve tried my best to dissuade her, but she’s as stubborn as you are and used to getting her way.”

Harry smiled down at the table. “I suppose I am, at that. Are you staying out there or moving back?”

“Why does it matter to you? I have my own life Potter, and I’m sure you have yours.”

“Does that mean we can’t be friends?” Snape raised a brow, and Harry sighed. “I’ll admit it; I was hoping you were single. I haven’t really been with anyone else, and I wanted to continue . . . whatever. But I’m happy you found someone. Really.” 

Snape grunted and stood, and Harry felt his body tense and relax in quick succession as the man simply went to the counter to order more coffee. Harry took a shaky breath and started picking at his cuticle again. He was probably in shock or something. 

He hadn’t expected . . . Well, if he wanted to continue this friendship in any capacity, he was going to have to get over it. Besides, Dean had been shooting him strange looks for weeks. Maybe if he let this go, he could focus on other things . . .

Snape returned with coffee for both of them and Harry nervously blurted, “So, what’s audio production like? Do you have any job prospects?”

“I have an internship secured at a studio near the school. They liked my work on Nina’s recordings.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “Can I hear it?”

Snape looked shocked, which was an accomplishment for Harry, and he reveled in it. “Why would you want to?”

“It’s something you obviously spent a lot of time on. If you really don’t want me to, that’s okay.”

Snape was still for a long moment, clearly contemplating. He stood. “I have a copy in my car.” 

Harry followed him out and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the old SUV. Snape glanced at him and shook his head. “I should have known. This is set up.”

“No, no. I want to hear your work.”

Being inside the SUV was like a step back in time. Harry skimmed a finger over the warm dash as Snape started the engine to run the air conditioning and dug through the center console for a CD.

The first waves of sound were faint, a quiet string intro Harry wasn’t familiar with. When Nina’s voice sliced through, high and clear, Harry thought he might cry. Her voice was truly beautiful, but more than that, he could just imagine the many hours Snape had put into it, slaving over every instrument track, probably directing Nina between takes. 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Too soon the song was over and the next track startled Harry as he recognized the intro.

“The Smiths? Really?”

“She refused at first, but I convinced her to give it a try.”

“She needed convincing?”

“She hates The Smiths.”

Harry stared for a moment, gob smacked as the beautiful music drifted over him. She sounded enthusiastic. “She must really love you to sing this for you.”

Snape frowned a little. “I’d rather she didn’t.”

“How is love a bad thing? Why are you so pessimistic?”

“I’m realistic, Potter. Love hurts, you know that. Every time I thought I had it, it ruined my life.”

Harry reached for Snape’s hand or something, but thought better of it. “”I’m sorry you feel that way, Snape. I hope everything works out for you.”

'I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour . . .'

"I never told anyone what happened.” Harry blurted. “My parents always suspected something, because I listened to The Smiths all summer, but . . . I never fessed up to it, and eventually they let it go.”

“The fact that I was never arrested or set upon by Minerva revealed as much.”

“My father wouldn’t let up for a while about staying at Whatnot and becoming too much like you, out of obsession.” Harry sighed. “I think my mother finally put a stop to that.”

“What do they think of your choices now?”

“I think they’re just happy I’m working full time and haven’t knocked anyone up. Not everyone from my class can say the same.”

Snape switched off the stereo. “Nina’s expecting me for dinner, and I’m sure I’ll be interrogated.”

“Is she the jealous type?”

“No. She has no reason to be, but she’s a . . . curious person by nature.” 

Harry nodded, brushing a hand unconsciously over the notch still nestled in his pocket. “Can I kiss you?”

“Why would you want to?” Snape choked out, caught off guard, but Harry kissed him anyway. 

It was certainly different. They both tasted of coffee and Harry had kissed a few people in the meantime. He had idolized Snape for so long, he’d never realized the older man wasn’t that great of a kisser. There was something to be said for passion. 

Harry pulled away, eyes still closed and whispered, “It’s gone.”

He felt Snape exhale, felt the air rush past him. “Welcome to adulthood, Potter. The grass is always greener and all that.”

Harry licked his lips and opened his eyes. Looking into Snape’s dark, dark eyes, he felt like a fire in his chest had flickered out. He smiled a little and reached for the door. 

“Goodbye, Snape. See you soon.” 

He heard Snape murmur something as he climbed out of the car, but he quietly closed the door and walked to his car without looking back.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New pairings this time around, and adult angst.

It wasn’t anything obvious, really. Harry had a feeling that Dean had been watching him for a while, and after discovering Snape had apparently moved on and begun dating someone else, Harry was more determined to explore his other options, whatever they may be. 

He didn’t say anything right way, preferring to keep a closer eye on Dean for the next few days instead. The other man certainly made an effort to talk to Harry on most occasions, but Harry was also notoriously shy and not always willing to begin a conversation. His desperation regarding Severus had driven him to new levels of effort, and he wasn’t sure if he could reproduce that any time soon, or for affection that failed to move him to such a degree.

He pulled Dean aside nearly a week after his meeting with Severus and asked him plainly if he’d like to grab dinner after work. Dean shrugged and agreed, unused to Harry asking for company, but always willing to spend time with his oblivious friend. Harry smiled brightly and let his hand rest a little longer than usual on Dean’s shoulder. 

‘There, that should do it’, he thought to himself, missing the calculating look Dean shot him as he walked away. 

…

They drove together to a local pub after closing the park, and Harry tried his best not to fidget in the seat of Dean’s immaculate car. The music he played was far from Harry’s taste, but it was pleasant in its own way. Apparently, Dean had a liking for confessional singer-songwriters. He tried his best not to roll his eyes as a woman shouted, ‘Liar!’ several times in a voice that sounded like she ate a carton of cigarettes a day.

The pub was pretty empty, considering it was a Wednesday night, and Dean led them to a table in a secluded corner.

“You’ve been here before, right?” Dean ventured, and Harry nodded with a small smile. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to go with the truth. 

“I came here on a blind date once. Hermione set it up and the . . . the person she thought I might like never showed up.”

“The man?” Dean pressed, and Harry blushed, nodding. “It’s alright, Harry. I’ve known for a while. It was pretty obvious when you were crushing on Snape.”

Harry cleared his suddenly dry throat, and was immensely pleased when the waiter arrived to take their orders. They were both ready to order food as well, and as the waiter left, Dean nudged Harry with a foot under the table. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you off?”

“No, no. I just thought I was better at hiding it.” Dean chuckled at that, and Harry reluctantly had to laugh at himself, too. “You know how teenagers are. They think they know everything and no one can tell them otherwise.”

Dean smiled at that. “I’m pretty sure Ron and Hermione warned you.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. Snape’s dating a pretty soprano and-” Harry cut himself off and felt himself grow cold. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

Dean watched Harry fidget for a long moment before sighing. “Is that why you asked me out? You’ve been acting weird all week. I thought you liked me or something. How stupid of me.”

“No, I do!” Harry fumbled across the table and gripped one of Dean’s warm hands in his own. “I don’t want you to think that’s why. You’ve been a great friend to me; I wanted to see if . . . “

Dean frowned, but didn’t pull his hand away. “Will you tell me what all happened?”

“What, w-with Snape?”

“If you can. It’s really none of my business, but I always wondered, with the way he left right after the End of Summer party, and you leaving in such a hurry that night.”

Harry grasped his beer as soon as the waiter set it down and took a long pull. “I . . . I’ve never told anyone before. I’m not sure if I can.”

“You don’t have to.” Dean offered, softly. He pulled his hand away and swiped a bead of condensation off the side of his soda. Harry bit his lip and fiddled with the rim of his glass.

“I don’t remember ever seeing Snape when I was a kid. But he snuck up on me my first week at Whatnot, and I dropped Albus’ tool bag . . .”

…

“Come on, Harry.”

“Nooo.” The raven haired man groaned in protest, but Dean hauled him out of the car anyway. 

Harry had told him about Snape, alright, and managed to get himself entirely drunk in the process. They were parked outside of Harry’s apartment now, and Dean maneuvered the drunken man up to his second floor apartment, grumbling about Harry being a little more helpful, if he was able. 

Harry fished out his keys and promptly dropped them. He muttered an apology as Dean stooped to grab them, then struggled to open the door and hold Harry up at the same time. He shuffled them through the door and deposited Harry onto the nearby couch, stepping outside to make sure he hadn’t dropped anything else. He came inside and closed the door, crouching to remove Harry’s shoes, sure the man was too drunk to remember to do it before going to bed.

“Thank you for being so good to me. I didn’t even know, and it’s been years.” Harry mumbled, eyes closed.

“It’s what friends do, Harry. No worries.” Dean tucked Harry’s shoes beneath the side table and moved to stand when he found himself looking into green eyes, open and cutting. Harry held him by the shoulders.

“Don’t-” Dean began, but Harry cut him off with a gentle kiss that tasted faintly of the beer he’d overindulged in earlier. Dean let himself enjoy it, knowing somewhere deep down that this wasn’t for him, not really. Harry was upset about Snape, and was trying to distract himself. But he’d wanted-

“It’s soft.” Harry murmured as he pulled away.

“What?” Dean blurted, eyes closed as he licked a lip, savoring this moment while he could.

“Your hair is soft. I thought it’d be like wool, but it’s like a bunny.”

Dean opened his eyes at that, grinning despite himself. “Really? You kiss me after five years of friendship, and that’s the best you’ve got?”

“I never got to touch it before.” Harry protested, trying to run his fingers through Dean’s messy curls and nearly losing a finger. Dean reached up to disentangle Harry’s hand and kissed his palm before placing it in Harry’s lap. He watched green eyes close again and the owner of those eyes twitched in his seat, spreading his legs a little.

Dean jumped up and backed away, nearly tripping over a coffee table he’d forgotten was behind him. “Go to bed.”

He heard Harry mumble something about his bed being in another room, but he blurted, “See you in the morning!” and fled. Back in his car, Dean beat his head against the steering wheel a few times, for good measure. He was doomed.

Harry stared after Dean for a long while, frowning. After accepting that he wasn’t coming back, he curled up on his couch and was asleep within minutes. 

…

“Good morning.” Dean said with a smirk as Harry oozed into his car the next morning.

“Yeah.” Harry deadpanned, nudging down the volume on Dean’s stereo. They drove in near silence after Harry’s quiet ‘Thank you’ for the coffee waiting for him in the cup holder.

“About last night . . .” Harry began as they approached Whatnot, but Dean silenced him with a wave of his hand. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No.” Harry insisted. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Snape. That wasn’t the point. I’d like to try again sometime, but with no alcohol.”

“I know what I can handle.” Dean said with a laugh, and Harry shot him a scowl, which only made him laugh harder. “All right, all right. We can try again.” Dean said as they pulled into the lot. “Maybe next week?”

It was a little awkward working alongside Dean after drunkenly gushing about his tragic romance, but Dean wasn’t treating him any differently and didn’t bring up the follow–up date for a few days. Harry was beginning to second guess their chemistry that night when Dean pulled him aside and asked him to attend a show with him.

“It depends. Who’s playing?”

“You wouldn’t know her if I told you. It’s a half hour drive, but we can make it if we leave right after lock up.”

Harry thought about it for all of a second before accepting, but with the stipulation that he be the one to drive. Harry had an easier time listening to his own music in the clutter of his own car. He and Dean chatted about work, mostly Albus’ emerging dementia. The older man was beginning to forget little things, and they both worried he would eventually be unable to manage the park.

Once they arrived at the venue, Harry changed his shirt in the parking lot, missing the hungry look Dean sent his way. He barely flinched when Dean took his hand on their way to the door, and paid for both cover fees. The basement venue was tiny, and Harry had to admit he enjoyed the proximity to Dean the crowded surroundings afforded him. 

The lights dimmed as the opener began. She reminded him of Hermione (same hair), and Harry felt a pang of guilt. He’d forgotten to call and tell her how things had gone with Snape. Or how things were currently  
going with Dean, for that matter. Maybe he could call her tomorrow . . .

The songs this girl had clearly written herself were pretty confessional, and Harry wondered who had smashed her heart into a million pieces. He enjoyed them, though, and clapped enthusiastically along with everyone else. She finished her set and quietly thanked the crowd before the emcee came back onstage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our featured guest of the evening is none other than Nina Sorbello!”

Harry clapped along with Dean and the others, watching with interest as a slim, dark haired woman of about thirty adjusted the mic stand to her height. She was rather tall. Dean said something from just behind Harry that he didn’t quite catch, as it was rather noisy and hot in the confined space. The lights changed and the backing track began. Harry froze, feeling his insides turn to ice as he heard an angelic soprano begin to sing ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked after a moment, seeming to sense Harry’s distress.

“Bathroom.” Harry nearly shouted, and dragged Dean into an empty stall. He could still hear the music faintly, and cursed the gods for punishing him. 

“Don’t people usually wait a little longer before making out in the bathroom?” Dean quipped, and Harry blushed, realizing how this must look.

“No, I . . . That’s Severus’ girlfriend. I recognize her voice.”

Dean’s eyes widened comically. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry, I had no idea-"

“It’s alright. I had no idea she was touring. We’re closer to the university, I guess.”

“Do you want to leave? I can probably get a voucher for another night.”

Harry considered, but eventually shook his head. “I’m trying to be realistic, here. She is a great singer, and you obviously like her.”

Dean blushed. “I have all her recordings. I met her at an open mic a few months ago.”

“We should go back out there. I was just surprised, I guess.” Harry swiped his clammy palms on his jeans and stepped closer to Dean. “Don’t feel bad, okay? I’m going to try enjoying this, if you’ll help me.”

“Yes.” Dean whispered, pulling Harry closer by the waist, kissing him. They stayed close for the rest of the song, and Harry nipped at Dean’s lip as he pulled away. “Ready?”

“Ready if you are.”

…

After all, Harry was glad he’d stayed. Nina was a great performer, offering witty commentary between songs and clearly in her element. She mentioned among the applause after her last number that she had CDs for sale at the merch table. Harry steeled himself and walked over, browsing the small selection as Nina chatted with the man working the table,

“You find anything you like? I can sign it for you.”

Harry looked up into eyes nearly as green as his own and stuttered, “Y-Yeah. Thank you.” He grabbed a CD at random and handed it over to be signed.

“What’s your name?” Nina asked, looking up with an expectant smile.

“Harry.”

“Alright, Harry. You’re all set. That’ll be five dollars.”

Harry dug for his wallet and paid her, trying his best not to shake as he did.

“And please tell your friend Dean that I remember him from the open mic. He probably thinks I don’t, but he bought all my CDs, so I owe him a drink sometime.”

“Alright.” Harry said, caught off guard, but amused. He turned the CD over and saw the small print on the back: ‘Produced and recorded by Severus Snape’. He considered giving Snape a message, but thought better of it. He was happy for the older man, and separation would make eventually getting over him much easier. He thanked Nina again and returned to Dean, relaying the message. They left soon afterward.

…

Harry parked in Dean’s driveway and turned off the radio. “I had a good time. Thank you.”

“I couldn’t tell if you were actually enjoying yourself or just humoring me.”

“Both.” Harry said plainly, and Dean laughed, caught off guard.

“I see. Well, we’ve gotta work tomorrow, so I’m going to bed.”

“Wait, can I . . . Forget it, I’ve hassled you enough.”

Dean stilled from his attempt to climb out of the car and looked to Harry with an even mix of concern and interest. “Hmm?”

Harry blushed. “Can I come inside? I . . . I’m not tired and I don’t want to be alone.”

Dean frowned at that, clearly torn, but sighed and climbed out of the car. “Come on. But I’m going to sleep. I mean it.”

Harry shut off the car and nearly skipped after Dean into his childhood home.

…

Dean’s parents had moved not long after Dean graduated high school, with the stipulation that Dean take over the utilities and take care of the place. Harry could see they’d left their decorations and furniture behind, but Dean had added his own touches here and there.

Unlike Severus, Dean had moved into the master bedroom after his parents moved out, and there was more than enough room for the both of them to sleep comfortably. They ended up spooning anyway, Dean’s arm thrown loosely around Harry’s waist, his warm breath rustling his hair. Harry drifted pretty easily, despite not feeling tired, and woke the next morning to Dean pulling away to silence the screaming alarm clock, only to return a moment later, his arm pulling Harry flush against him and his morning erection pressing against Harry’s backside.

Harry huffed a sigh and wriggled back a little, stifling a moan as Dean’s arm tightened around him, and they ground slowly, still half asleep. Dean sped up a little, moaning softly into Harry’s hair and holding him firmly as he ground harder. Harry bit his lip, struggling not to stroke himself and Dean’s breaths came in gasps, hitching as he teetered on the edge. Harry settled his hand on Dean's, gripping his waist, lacing their fingers together as Dean trembled and came pressed against him.

“Good morning.” Harry said smugly, rubbing his feet on Dean’s calves behind him.

“Mmm.” Dean responded, reaching to latch onto Harry’s neck with a slick sound just below his ear. Harry groaned at that and plunged a fist into his pants, stroking himself quickly, urgently. He came fast, already heated from Dean’s movements earlier. As his breathing slowed, Harry yawned and wiped his hand on the inside of his shirt.

“That is so nasty.” Dean grumbled, and Harry laughed. 

“I’m going to change back into my work shirt anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe not to you.” Dean continued, pulling fully away. He climbed out of bed and awkwardly shuffled to the bathroom. Harry stretched before climbing out himself. 

…

A few weeks later, Harry was just about to drain the fettuccine when there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” He hollered from in front of the sink, and drained the pasta as Hermione bustled in, arms loaded with grocery bags.

“I asked for a loaf of French bread, Hermione. One loaf.”

“Yes, well . . . I bought what you needed, not what you asked for.”

Harry sighed and returned the pasta to the stove, mixing in the store bought sauce he’d picked up earlier. He hadn’t had time after his shift to make any from scratch. Hermione joined him at the counter, reaching beside him to grab dishes for the both of them. She placed the loaf in the oven to warm and sat with a sigh, rifling through a grocery bag.

“So, what’s new?” Harry ventured.

Hermione smiled and shuffled in her chair. Clearly, she was prepared for this question. “Well, I passed all my finals.”

“Obviously.”

“And I, uh, mighthavekissedoneofmyprofessors.”

Harry took a breath and turned his head. “Sorry, would you like to run that by me again? Slower, perhaps?”

“I . . .” Hermione looked off, blushing, and Harry took pity on her, setting the pasta to keep warm and taking her hand as he sat, squeezing encouragement. 

“Well, the first day of class, I think I told you, Professor Lupin gave us a practice final to gauge where we were as a whole. And it was so easy; I was done right away. I waited for the first person to turn theirs in, so I wouldn’t stand out.” 

Harry nodded. He remembered hearing about this.

“So he started grading them there in class, and I pulled out my textbook to double check some of my guesses-"

Harry rolled his eyes and Hermione caught it with a smirk. “I know. Silly thought, me guessing on anything. So, anyway, the next class, he called me to stay behind and locked the door, and at this point, I’m panicking.”

Harry chuckled. “I would have been, too.”

“He asks me point blank if I cheated on the test. Of course I hadn’t. He asks if I’d taken the course before, and I haven’t. He just looks at me, and I’m shaking.” 

Harry shook his head, amused at the idea of fearless Hermione shaking in her boots at anything.

“Finally he says, ‘Well, clearly you know a bit about this subject. If you pass all the chapter tests, you won’t have to attend the lectures if you don’t want to. I can write you a recommendation letter for my advanced course.’”

“Wow” Harry managed, taking a moment to let it soak in. “Did you kiss him?”

“Later.” Hermione said plainly, and Harry cackled at that, standing to make plates for the both of them. He sat down again, pushing Hermione’s plate toward her and gesturing for her to continue.

“He gave me all the chapter tests the next class, and I finished them within two hours.”

Harry set down his fork, stunned. “And your pencil didn’t catch fire?”

“I used a pen. I only had to cross out maybe three words.” She laughed at herself, then added, “But of course, I love Pathology.”

“So what then?”

“He’d graded them by the next class, and at this point, I was wondering what I’d do for the rest of the semester, because I’d planned on hours a day studying for this class.”

“But you read the book already.”

“I’ve read all of my books already.”

Harry shook his head and ripped his piece of bread to soak up extra sauce. “So?”

“So, I passed all the chapter tests. I think I missed one or two questions, but that’s not so bad. He wrote me a letter and told me the advanced course was less often. It sounded more like a review course for pre-med students or something.”

“But you’re not pre-med.”

“Technically, no. But I have a lot of transferable credits, and after talking to Remus-”

“Remus?”

“Sorry, Professor Lupin. He teaches most of the anatomy and pathology classes on campus. He was a cardiovascular surgeon for almost fifteen years until he developed carpal tunnel and decided to retire.”

“So you’ve clearly had some personal conversations with him.”

“Yes. I’m considering dropping the advanced course though.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I stayed after class to ask some questions about my independent reading, and he kissed me unexpectedly. It was nice, but I shouldn’t continue the classes if I know he feels romantic attraction toward me.”

“You have perfect grades anyway, so I guess there’s nothing to gain-OW!”

Hermione had smacked him on her way to the stove for seconds, and Harry rubbed his arm where she’s hit him, legitimately in pain. 

“Alright, so what’s your plan? Do you need the course?”

“I don’t think so. My career track at the moment is psychology. I just wanted the pathology course as a personal interest.”

“I’d continue the class. Otherwise, you’ll just be missing a credit that you thought you’d have.”

“But I’d like to see if this is going anywhere.”

“Can you wait until the end of the semester?”

Hermione frowned. “I guess I’ll have to. I may be rushing into this, anyway . . . He’s just so interesting. I’ll have to tell him to stop making advances the next time I see him.”

“Does he treat you any differently in class?”

“No, no. I usually stay after to ask some questions. That’s how we started talking about his personal life in the first place.”

“I think you’ll be okay. It’s only two more months, right?”

“Something like that.”

Harry finished his food and watched Hermione fiddle with her food. “If you don’t eat that, I will.”

“No, I want the food. I’m just thinking.”

“About Professor Lupin?”

“About Professor Lupin’s eyes.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reached for the end and it came slowly, but it's bittersweet for several reasons, one of which being I've had this fic in my head for years, and now it's done. T.T


End file.
